


Lost in Time

by seductivembrace



Series: LiT!verse [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-03 21:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 66
Words: 170,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seductivembrace/pseuds/seductivembrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during <i>Halloween</i>. Buffy and the gang “turn into” their Halloween costumes.  But, before Giles can break the spell, Ethan does something that has a profound effect on Buffy... and Spike is along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue from "Halloween".

Spike slowly advanced on Buffy – the “pre-Victorian era” Elizabeth that had no earthly idea that she was the Slayer – as she backed away from him, frightened, her body trembling.

“Look at you. Shaking. Terrified. Alone. Lost little lamb,” Spike taunted.

The Slayer stumbled against a wooden crate, her means of escape abruptly cut off. Spike moved in for the kill, feeding on her fear. Wanting to feel more, he suddenly backhanded her. 

“I love it!” he announced to the room at large, reveling in the Slayer’s cowered demeanor.

In the corner, Angel struggled in vain against the two small demons holding him captive.

“ _Buffy_!” Angel cried out, helpless to come to her aid.

Spike grasped the Slayer’s throat and bent her backwards over the crate. She didn’t struggle at all, just gazed up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. He removed his hand, knowing instinctively that the girl was too frightened to do anything but accept her fate, and trailed one finger down her face before gripping a fistful of her hair and yanking her head to the side. Lowering his head towards her frightened and pliable form, he slowly sunk his fangs into her neck.

The first taste of her blood as it slid down his throat caused his cock to harden within the confines of his tight jeans. He took one long pull of her blood and then his world shifted beneath his feet and darkness overcame him.

~*~*~*~*~

Elizabeth watched, unable to move, as the demon removed his hand from her neck to trail it softly down her face. She was too frightened to dare reproach him for being so familiar with her person. She sensed her death at this demon’s hands and was helpless to do anything to stop him. Resigned to her fate, she felt her head yanked to the side and watched transfixed as his sharpened teeth lowered towards her neck. Closing her eyes and whispering a fervent prayer that her end would be quick, she waited – paralyzed – for his mouth to settle on her neck and end her mortal existence. 

She was surprised at the gentleness of the bite after all of the demon’s previous grandstanding, as if the act was an event to be cherished. As if she, this monster’s victim, was being honored in her last moments of life. Her fear gave way as the first stirrings of… _something_ … she wasn’t quite sure what, exactly, made themselves known deep within her body. She could practically hear the blood pounding in her veins, and she was aghast to feel a sudden throbbing begin at her woman’s core. _‘I’m going to hell,’_ she thought as her eyes fluttered closed and blackness enveloped her.

~*~*~*~*~

Giles kicked the sprawled figure of Ethan again in the ribs.

“Now tell me how to stop the spell.”

“Janus. Break its statue,” the warlock croaked out.

Giles turned away from him and hurried over towards the statue perched on the table. So engrossed in his task, he didn’t hear Ethan’s muttered words before he lifted the figurine high over his head and threw it to the ground. Giles paid no mind to the chaos worshiper who had a slight grin playing about his lips, and with an uncharacteristic burst of speed, rushed from the man’s house to see how his slayer was faring.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel looked towards the spot where, moments before, both Spike and Buffy stood leaning against the crate – Spike’s fangs embedded in Buffy’s neck deep enough that the scent of her blood permeated the air. Now the space was vacant, no hint of either of the two could be found. He pushed himself away from the now-frightened children, the little demons that were holding him captive having reverted back to their true nature. Giles must have found Ethan and managed to break the spell.

The only problem remaining was the whereabouts of Buffy, and for that matter, Spike.

“Buffy?” Angel called out into the warehouse. The sound of his voice echoed in the nearly empty building.

Xander shook his head to clear it and heard Angel frantically calling Buffy’s name. The children standing around him were looking at him in confusion. He glanced over to where Buffy last stood, held prisoner by Spike. His soldier’s mind registered her being there just a moment ago, but in a blinding flash, both she and Spike had disappeared.

The children were desperately trying to get his attention, their whispered cries for “Mommy” and “Daddy” joining in with their ever-increasing sobs. Some were even trying to get his attention by pulling on his pants leg. Turning away from where Angel stood, he glanced down at the children surrounding him.

“It’s okay, we’ll find your parents real soon, alright?” he told the kids, ruffling the hair on the heads of a few to get them to calm down.

“Xander?” Cordelia called to him hesitantly. 

“I guess whatever spell we were under was suddenly broken…” his voice trailed off.

“But what about Buffy?” Cordelia wanted to know. “Where is she? I saw her standing over there just a moment ago, and now she’s gone.”

Xander sighed; he didn’t know what to tell her. “I don’t know, Cordelia.” Turning to Angel, he called out, “Anything?”

Angel looked up from where he was trying to catch Buffy’s scent. It was like she had just disappeared. Buffy _and_ Spike. One minute they were there, the next... nothing. Like they had just vanished.

“Look, I need to get these kids back to their parents. Cordy, why don’t you come with… then we’ll all meet back up at Giles’s?”

Angel nodded distractedly then turned back to try and find a trace of either Spike’s or Buffy’s scent. Xander and Cordelia, along with a handful of children wearing Halloween costumes, left the warehouse to return to the high school to be reunited with their parents.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike woke to what sounded suspiciously like a carriage resounding in his ears. In his groggy state, he realized that he was sprawled out on his back on the ground, in an alley, from the smells assaulting his sensitive nose. Curled against his side, an arm draped possessively across his chest, lay a woman… human at that.

_‘What the bloody hell?’_ Lifting his head off the ground, he tried to make out her features. The sharp pain that reverberated through his head had him muttering a curse and flopping back against the stone floor. _‘Stone? Since when did the Hellmouth have stone-covered streets?’_

He pushed aside that thought for now and tried to concentrate on the female lying so trustingly in his arms. He could smell his scent on her; yet, she was still human – and alive at that. He tried to remember the last thing that had happened before he apparently passed out. The gray of his mind slowly cleared as fuzzy images sprung up before him.

The Slayer, only not the Slayer, running from him.

Children made demon, the smell of magic in the air.

His hand wrapped around the Slayer’s throat. One finger trailing down her face. His hand fisting in her hair, yanking her head to the side to expose her virgin neck.

The taste of her blood. Sweet ambrosia coursing down his throat.

Darkness.

Obviously someone must have interrupted his feeding. But that made no sense. Why would he still be alive?

A soft moan from his would-be new companion brought him out of his silent musings.

“Ohhhh… my head,” she groaned softly. She attempted to sit up, but like Spike, the pain the action posed caused her to change her mind.

As the throbbing in his head started to recede, Spike was able to concentrate more on the smells around him – specifically the woman currently cuddled close to his side. Soft tendrils of some flowery scent drifted to him through the overpowering stench of urine and stale food.  
He tried once again to lift his head, his demon features sliding to the fore to be better able to see in the dark, and he made out a red gown. Her face was buried against his chest but he noticed she had long, brown hair. 

Surprising himself with his gentleness, he put his hand under her chin to lift her head slightly to meet his gaze. Her eyes were still closed as she attempted to block out the pain in her head, but Spike would recognize those features anywhere. _Slayer! What the bloody hell was going on?_

Allowing her head to fall back onto his chest, he stretched his senses outward, trying to make out the sounds and smells slowly drifting back to him.

Sea air.

Women calling out with… _invitations_? Male words drunkenly slurred. _Sailors_?

English-accented voices. 

Food. Ale. Arousal.

From the sounds and smells, it appeared like they were in England. Probably near the docks. But how? He pushed that thought aside for now, once more concentrating.

Animals… _horses_? Wheels… wooden… turning over cobblestone. _Carriages_?

Now he was really confused. He refused to believe what his mind told him the familiar noises reverberating through his head might mean. Easing out of the Slayer’s arms – at which she groaned unhappily – he slowly pushed his way to his feet. Half stumbling to the end of the alley, he peered around the corner.

His jaw dropped in astonishment.

“No bloody fuckin’ way,” he whispered softly.

Yet, he couldn’t deny what was before his eyes.

Somehow, he and the Slayer had managed to slip back in time.


	2. Chapter 2

Spike gaped, slack-jawed, as several hacks wheeled up and down the lane. Sailors lurched drunkenly towards their destinations, some aided by the help of their equally drunken companions. He eased back into the cover of darkness that the alley provided before catching the eye of any passersby. It wouldn’t do for him to be noticed by someone in what he was wearing. They would take one look at him and mark him for an evil demon.

They’d be right on that score, but that was beside the point.

Twirling around with a swish of his leather duster, Spike stomped back to where the Slayer was slowly coming around. Before he reached the moaning girl, as she valiantly struggled to pull herself upright, he caught a whiff of someone… or, something.

“Come out of the shadows, mate. I know you’re there.” His eyes briefly flashed yellow in annoyance. He didn’t know how the creature had managed to get past him at the entrance to the alley, but he was damn sure aware of his presence now. Pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his duster, he took one out and lit it, the tip glowing bright red as he took a long pull.

After a few moments of waiting, he watched as a man stepped away from his hiding place against the wall. About the same height and build as Spike, the dark-haired man was dressed in a similar fashion. Garbed in a brown leather bomber jacket, red button-down shirt, jeans, and boots, the man was as much out of place as both Spike and the Slayer appeared to be. 

“Who are you and what the bloody hell are you doing here? For that matter, what are we doing here?” Spike asked the newcomer. He sniffed the air and added, “And, what are you… from the smell, I’d say you’re not entirely human.”

“Doyle’s the name,” he said with a decidedly Irish brogue. “And, I’m only half human. Other half’s Bracken.” Spike watched as Doyle’s human face slid away to reveal that of a demon with red eyes and a green-tinged face that had spikes protruding from every available facial surface.

“I’m here because the PTB’s sent me,” he added as his human mask slid back into place.

“Huh? Wanna run that by me again…PTB? What the fuck is that?”

“PTB… You know, the Powers That Be. Higher beings. Observe the goings on of man and demon alike –” Doyle started to explain. 

“Oh, that’s just fucking great!” Spike cut him off. He started pacing up and down the alley, his agitation clearly evident as he talked aloud to himself. “What the hell do these ‘ _Powers_ ’ want with me? All I was doing was draining the bitch. And, hey, vampire here. It’s what we’re supposed to do!”

“Yeah, about that?” Doyle interrupted. “If you ever want to get back to your time, I suggest you might want to refrain from ‘draining the bitch’ as you so eloquently put it. You’re gonna need her. You see, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, mate!”

“You’re here because Ethan Rayne called upon Janus to cast a spell that temporarily changed people into the costumes they wore. But, somehow, before the spell was reversed, Ethan cast a different spell sending the Slayer back to the time period of her costume.”

“Damn well figured out that part, what with the bloody carriages and all…” Spike muttered.

Doyle ignored the vampire’s sarcasm and continued with his explanation.

“Well, you’re here along with the Slayer because at the moment the spell was cast, you were feeding from her. Remember? So, not only was the Slayer transported, you were as well.”

“ _What_!?” Spike yelled sarcastically. Lowering his voice so as not to draw attention to them why they argued in the alley, he hissed, “Well, how the hell do I get out of this place?”

“That’s just it… we, that is, _they_ … the PTBs, aren’t sure just yet. Right now they’re leaving it up to the Slayer’s watcher to find the solution. The Powers don’t want to mess with fate any more than they already have by sending me here.”

“And just what am I supposed to do while those wankers back home try to come up with a plan? What year is it anyway?”

“When, is England circa 1775. What you’re supposed to do, well,” Doyle began, pointing down to the Slayer as she finally managed to sit up, a dazed expression on her face. “Meet your new best friend.”

Spike stopped his pacing to stare at the demon standing before him. He flicked his cigarette away and advanced on Doyle.

Grabbing him by the lapels of his leather bomber, Spike pulled him forward so that their faces were within a hairsbreadth of each other. “You’re saying I’ve got to keep her with me? I’m not the bloody bint’s babysitter. ’sides, when she gets herself together she’s gonna be coming after me, and not because she wants to invite me to bloody tea either. She’s gonna have a stake in her hand aimed straight at my chest.”

“Well…” Doyle began, but was cut off by the Slayer’s next words. Both men turned to look at her. 

Sitting on the ground, her smudged red skirts fanned out about her, the Slayer put her hand to her head. The two watched her face as she slowly realized she was sitting in some dank alley, the smell of rotten food and such assaulting her nostrils. She looked close to swooning.

Releasing Doyle, Spike walked over to her, crouching down beside her.

“Slayer, you’re not going to faint on me, are ya?”

She lifted wide, luminous eyes to him, a gasp escaping her lips when she realized who it was. She tried to scream, but Spike covered her mouth with his hand before she was able to make a sound.

The fear in her eyes surprised Spike, and his demon momentarily reveled in the emotion before Spike was able to tamp it down. 

If anything, the Slayer should be spitting mad. The thought had him slightly worried. He glanced back at Doyle to see if the half-demon could enlighten him as to what was going on. A confused shrug was his only answer.

Turning back to the Slayer, he said more softly than he intended, “I’ll take my hand away if you promise not to scream, yeah?”

She nodded behind his hand, eyes wide as her gaze darted between him and Doyle.

“Now, Slayer, what’s the last thing you remember,” Spike asked.

“Slayer?” she asked. “Why do you persist on calling me ‘slayer’?”

Spike stared at her in astonishment. _‘Surely she couldn’t still be—’_

“Oh, that’s just bloody great!” he roared, his gaze returning to Doyle. “Not only do I have to tie myself to the Slayer for God knows how long. But she has no fucking idea who she _is_?” He stood up from his crouch to once more resume his pacing.

The monster’s sudden rage caused Elizabeth to shrink away from him, cowering amongst the garbage that littered the alley. She was trying to bring as little attention to herself as possible, even if the thought of hiding in an alley – let alone, without a proper chaperone – was offending her tender sensibilities. 

“Well, that’s something we hadn’t planned on,” Doyle announced, somewhat ruefully.

“Hadn’t planned on? Hadn’t _planned_ on?!” Spike stared at Doyle in disbelief. 

“Well, that is to say, the Powers didn’t realize that the Slayer would still be without her memories. Maybe they’ll come back with time?”

“With time? Maybe? Bloody hell! Even as the Slayer, it would be difficult to keep her alive in this time period. Her advanced notions wouldn’t exactly go over too well here.”

“Which could be a good thing,” Doyle hurriedly pointed out, his voice low so that the Slayer couldn’t overhear. Before Spike had a chance to interrupt him again, he went on, “Look at it this way... For all she knows, she’s an English gentle-born lady from the eighteenth century. Her being true to character will go a long way towards making this situation bearable for the two of you.”

Spike just stared at Doyle like he had lost his mind.

“Just where the hell am I supposed to take her? I’m a vampire. I can adapt well enough. But her?” he pointed in the Slayer’s direction still cowering amongst the rubbish. “She’s human, and the Slayer to boot! They’d take one look at her and see their next meal. Then, I’d be stuck here.”

“So claim her,” Doyle reasoned.

“Are you off your bloody rocker?” Spike roared, horrified at the notion. “ _Claim_ the Slayer?”

“Claiming her would ensure that other vampires wouldn’t touch her. She’d be under your protection. Besides, we have no idea how long you two are going to be, er…stuck here.”

“Huh? Wanna run that by me again, mate?”

“We, uh, that is… I mean... well...” He quickly changed the subject back to the Slayer, and by extension, Spike’s claiming. “Claiming the Slayer is a win-win situation. It affords her protection and it keeps her alive, which in turn gives you your ticket back to your own time.”

Spike turned to look at the Slayer, then back at Doyle and narrowed his eyes. Knowing what he had to do. Hating it. A vampire claiming a slayer? Completely unheard of!

Resigned, but still resisting till the bitter end, he mumbled, “Claiming is a personal thing. It shouldn’t be forced on a bloke.”

At that, Doyle snorted. “Don’t tell me you don’t find her attractive.” With a wave of his hand, he showed an image of the Slayer dancing at the Bronze. Spike remembered the scene; he had gotten hard just looking at the bint as she’d swayed wantonly to the music, arms above her head while she closed her eyes and allowed the beat to wrap itself around her body.

“Ok, ok… you can turn off the bloody movie. Moves well enough, doesn’t mean I want to be stuck with her for the rest of my bloody unlife…”

Doyle refrained from commenting, having sensed Spike’s capitulation. He waved his hand and the picture disappeared.

Pulling out his pack of cigarettes once more, Spike lit another and watched Doyle cross to the Slayer and kneel down beside her.

“Good evening, miss,” Doyle said in his most proper voice. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Surely I mustn’t. We’ve not been properly introduced,” she replied, her tone frightened, but still trying to maintain some type of proper decorum.

“Right,” he said, coming to his feet. Affecting a formal bow he announced, “Lord Allen Francis Doyle, Viscount Tellidyne, at your service, Miss. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

From his spot leaning up against the wall, Spike just rolled his eyes. But if the half-demon could get the Slayer a little less gun-shy around him – all the better.

Although, truth be told, after the claiming it wouldn’t really matter.

He watched as Doyle held out his hand to the Slayer, who graciously took it. Rising to her feet as if it were a common everyday occurrence to find herself in a deserted alley with two men she did not know, she released his hand and attempted to brush the dirt and grime from her skirts as best she could.

As satisfied as she could be with the state of her dress, she addressed the man that had just introduced himself. With a quick grab of her skirts, she affected a slight curtsey replying, “Lady Elizabeth Anne Summers.”

“Lady Summers,” Doyle began gesturing to Spike, “My friend, Lord William Thornton, the Earl of Arundel.” Elizabeth looked briefly at the monster being introduced to her, her hand unconsciously drifting over the closed bite marks on her neck. Her eyes shut briefly as a feeling she couldn’t describe suddenly overwhelmed her. Biting back a moan, she opened her eyes and tried to concentrate on what Lord Doyle was saying.

“…stay with him until your family can be located.”

“I’m sorry, Lord Doyle. What did you just say?” She blushed profusely at being caught daydreaming, and over such a shamefully sinful sensation. She was going to hell; she just knew it. And, it was entirely that blue-eyed monster’s fault.

“I said that you would be under his protection, as his ward, until your family can be located. It will all be quite proper.”

“But, uh…” She trailed off abruptly, refusing to sound like an unschooled chit before the Viscount. _‘Lord Arundel’s ward? Were they crazy?’_ Brushing those thoughts aside, Elizabeth concentrated once more on what Lord Doyle was saying.

“For tonight, we will have to tuck you away in one of the rooms here. This will allow us to obtain suitable attire for your person and find a temporary lady’s maid to act as chaperone. As long as you remain behind your locked door and do not answer it except for myself or Lord Arundel, you should be perfectly safe.”

The thought of a bed to rest upon was music to Elizabeth’s ears, and she nodded eagerly.

Turning away from the Slayer, Doyle addressed Spike.

“Stay here. I’ll get a room. When I whistle, meet me at the back entrance and you two can sneak upstairs without any notice. Then, once she’s locked in for the night, we can see about getting you both some proper clothes.”

Spike looked down at the clothes he had become attached to the last several years. His mind drifted back over what he used to wear in his human days.

“Bloody hell…” 

Traveling back in time had just turned into his own version of hell.


	3. Chapter 3

The faint whistle was loud enough for Spike to hear yet not attract the attention of others; vampiric hearing was a useful gift sometimes. Grabbing the Slayer’s hand none too gently, he hauled her after him.

“Come on, luv. Time to go.”

Elizabeth didn’t bother to correct his forwardness; the thought of a warm bed – even if it was in some seaside tavern – stifled any retort she might have made. Plus, there was her reputation to protect. The quicker she was away from prying eyes, the better. She attempted to shake off Lord Arundel’s hold and just follow behind meekly, but his grip was unrelenting.

“Stay close, pet. Lotsa’ things that go bump in the night are about. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt, now would we?”

Her eyes widened at his casually spoken words, and the vigorous shake of her head confirmed that, no, she didn’t want to be some monster’s next meal. It was bad enough she was stuck with this one. Though she’d still yet to remember how that had happened.

Spike pulled her after him, quickly making their way to the end of the alley. He poked his head around the corner, scanned the street for any sign that someone might be paying them the slightest bit of attention. The few stragglers meandering down the street were either too drunk or too busy engaging in chatter to bother. 

Gripping her hand a little tighter in his, Spike practically dragged her as they raced down the street before dipping into the next alley that led to the back entrance of the tavern. He could hear the Slayer as she stumbled along behind him, gasping at the slight pain of his grip as he held her hand in his.

“What took you so long?” Doyle whispered as the two closed in on him. Spike gave him a pointed look.

“Trying not to draw attention here, mate.” Spike frowned at Doyle; a brow arched in wonderment at how he’d managed to fool the tavern’s patrons.

“Glamor,” Doyle replied to the unanswered question. “Now hurry.”

He stepped back, allowing Spike and Buffy to climb the stairs unnoticed.

“First door on the right. I’ve already unlocked it, but here’s the key.”

Spike hurried up the stairs pulling a frazzled Slayer behind him. She tripped over her skirts and would have nose-dived into the stairs if he hadn’t yanked her upright. Slowing his speed now that they were before the room, he walked at a more leisurely pace, allowing her to recover from her near mishap. When they reached the opened doorway, Spike released her hand and gestured her inside.

He watched, arms akimbo, as she sank gratefully onto the bed, her head bowed indicating her weariness. 

“Listen, pet. I mean it… Don’t open the door for anyone. My little bite mark will keep the vam…er, the monsters away for now. But there’s more out there in that tavern than demons. The lot of them are pissed right now, and a pretty li’l thing like you would be seen as a right nice treat.”

Her eyes grew huge as saucers at him speaking so frankly to her, but right now, that was the least of his crimes against her person. She nodded emphatically, assuring him that she wouldn’t open the door for anyone. He nodded once and turned to leave.

Her fear got the better of her, voice barely above a whisper when she asked, “You will be returning for me?” She hated feeling so needy, but she was alone, penniless, far from home and her family. At the mercy of someone she didn’t know.

Spike stopped, one hand on the door, and turned back to the Slayer. Wide, tear-filled eyes gazed back at him. He was jolted by the sudden desire to protect the girl, to keep her safe. And he hadn’t even claimed her yet.

Claiming.

Blood.

Calling.

His nostrils flared and Spike let go of the door handle and returned to the Slayer’s side. He grabbed her hand and pulled her roughly to her feet to slam flush against his hard body. Her open-mouthed gasp was just the opportunity he needed to plunge his tongue into her mouth, possessing her.

Her body was unmoving against his, but as his tongue swept masterfully within her mouth, her body relaxed and leaned into his. A soft moan of pleasure escaped her lips, captured within his mouth. Spike broke the kiss to trail his lips down her jaw. Her head fell back to expose the smooth column of her throat.

His eyes zeroed in on his mark and he was powerless to do anything but take a little taste. Just a small one. He’d wait to claim her until he returned. It would be an experience neither was likely to ever forget. For now, he’d take a small sip to tide him over.

Blunt teeth nibbled down her neck to hover over where he had bitten her. Holding her body close, Spike allowed his face to shift, his canines to elongate. A shocked gasp escaped her lips as his fangs slid into her neck, slowly piercing her delicate flesh.

_‘It doesn’t hurt,’_ Elizabeth thought vaguely as he began to suck her blood into his mouth.

Again, faint stirrings of some unknown emotion filled her body and she found herself desperately trying to get even closer. At any other time she would have been shocked by her scandalous behavior, but right now, this monster – this _demon_ – was making her feel so good… so _alive_.

“Yes….” she moaned as he pulled her flush against him. His fangs were gone and now he was just sucking. Then she felt his tongue gliding over her skin. The rough texture caused goose bumps to erupt along her arms, while a gentle throb persisted in her womb. 

Spike had never felt reluctance as a vampire before, and he was loath to admit to the emotion now. But as he pulled away from the Slayer’s warm, willing, and aroused body, he wanted nothing more than to tell Doyle to go by himself so that he could spend the rest of the night getting acquainted with the Slayer.

Pushing her to arm’s length, he waited until she lifted her head and opened her eyes. The dazed expression she wore tempted his demon to say the hell with it and claim her now. With a growl, he shoved her down onto the bed with a command for her to stay put.

She nodded at him, too befuddled to say anything about his abrupt manner. 

Spike forced himself away from the inviting picture the Slayer made sprawled on the bed and left the room, the tails of his duster billowing behind him. He pulled the door shut as he left, his confusion over his recent less than demon-like feelings reducing him to slamming it in a childish pout. Using the key Doyle had given him, he locked her inside then rushed down the stairs and past a protesting Doyle, who took one look at his blood-smeared face and said nothing.

The two strode off into the night, eager to get the necessary details taken care of so that he and the Slayer could begin to move around without fear of discovery.

~*~*~*~*~

Their first stop was a tailor.

Spike stood out like a sore thumb in the clothes he was currently wearing. He spotted the shop first and made his way to the back of the building, Doyle on his heels. Grabbing the wrought-iron door latch, he broke it, allowing the two to sneak inside.

He was grateful the tailor had some items out on display. It also looked like they had just finished making a wardrobe for an English lord. Many different outfits for all occasions were wrapped and folded in a chest and waiting for delivery in the morning. 

“Oh, bloody hell! Just stake me now and get it over with,” Spike moaned upon retrieving a pair of breeches from the chest. He eyed the pants and a shudder of revulsion gripped his body. “They better bloody well find a solution to this problem quick. I refuse to wear this stuff forever. I’ve been there, done that… thank you very much!”

“Just put them on and shut up, Spike,” Doyle replied.

Spike took off his duster, followed by the red button-down shirt and black t-shirt that made up his wardrobe. Eyeing the clothes laid out before him with disgust, he quickly kicked off his boots and shed his black jeans. Naked, he grabbed the white, silk stocking and drew them on.

Beside him, Doyle tapped his foot impatiently. 

The gray and yellow pinstriped knee breeches came next and Spike almost changed his mind about the clothes when he spied the white silk shirt he needed to wear. Holding it before him, he took in the flowing material, the stitches that leaned a little towards the feminine side. Soft curses filled the room as he jammed his arms into the shirt and started buttoning it up. He didn’t even bother to grumble – knowing it was useless, and besides, no one was there to hear him besides Doyle – as he slipped the soft pink vest on. 

Spike caught Doyle staring once he was dressed and narrowed his eyes at the half demon.

“One word and I’ll bite you,” he ground out. He knew he looked like a ponce and regretted that he was unable to see his reflection in the mirror.

He glanced down at his stocking feet when he suddenly remembered. “Damn. I forgot.”

Doyle looked at Spike inquiringly. “Different shop for shoes.”

Spike strode off towards the front of the store mumbling, “In my human days, one was usually… Ah ha!”

Doyle came to stand beside him as they looked out the front window. Spike was pointing across the street. 

“Shoe shop.”

Spike gathered his things and left the shop, looking for any signs of activity before they rushed across the street. Again, Spike broke the door latch and they snuck inside. Spike’s stockings were ruined, but he didn’t really care. He just needed the clothes so he could move around for the night. Once he was settled, he’d have a better wardrobe made for him – one that didn’t have such nancy-boy colors.

Spike rolled his eyes as he took in the shoes on display. _‘When did boots come into style?’_ he thought as he grabbed a pair of shoes. The third pair he tried fit, and he was just happy he couldn’t see how awful he looked.

“Not one word,” Spike warned, growling fiercely.

Doyle wisely changed the subject. “Let’s get Lady Summers some clothes and return to the tavern.”

The two raided several shops, grabbing all the frippery the Slayer would need to feel comfortable. Again, they took just enough for them to appear respectable as they walked from the tavern to a waiting hack Spike planned to hire.

Spike and Doyle made it back to the tavern a couple hours before dawn. Spike figured it would take the Slayer at least an hour to get ready; although, her new lady’s maid that he dragged beside him would go a long way towards speeding her along. It had been luck that the two of them had managed to convince the young woman that they meant her no harm and were looking for a lady’s maid for Spike’s “ward”. The fact that the two had saved the clearly destitute young woman from a fate worse than death had also helped.

Spike handed the maid the key to the room and shoved the packages into her hands, telling her to get her new mistress ready and not to dawdle, as he wanted to be on their way before sun-up. She bobbed a quick curtsy and fled up the stairs to the rooms above.

Finally free from his burden, Spike stalked off to hire a hack. Once he had realized Spike had things well in hand, Doyle had handed him a packet with directions to their new “residence” and enough money to see them there. Then, he’d promptly disappeared, taking Spike’s clothes with him. The wanker. Doyle had taken Spike’s duster, and his cigarettes and lighter had been inside.

Right now, he’d kill for a cigarette.

He walked along the street, taking in the night life as he searched for a hack to take him to his new home. A few minutes later, Spike saw one pull up before another tavern and watched as a couple of drunken sailors stepped down from inside. 

Reaching into the pouch, he extracted a coin and flipped it to the waiting driver. A grin lit up the older man’s face as he caught it.

“Climb in, m’lord. Where to?”

“Back to _The Red Lyon_. There’s another coin in it for you if you wait for me to conclude my business within.”

“Right ye are, gov’nor. ‘Ole Willie be waiting right out front for yer return.”

“Very good. I shan’t be but a moment.” He snorted at the ease with which he had slipped back into the cultured tones of his human days.

Spike walked through the front door of the pub, weaving his way through the tables to the stairs at the back. He felt a prickling of awareness and realized a few vampires were tucked in the corner of the room, eagerly eyeing the patrons for their next meal. He didn’t pause as he sensed their presence, knowing instinctively that he was far older than any of them.

He knocked on the door and listened as the maid came towards the door. He knew it was she and not the Slayer from the sound of her gait, and the slightly unkempt smell that lingered on her frame. _‘That’ll be remedied soon enough.’_ With his sensitive nose, he was going to insist his staff bathe… and often.

“Who is it?” the girl whispered.

“Lord Arundel. Open the door. Quickly!” He heard the key slide in the lock and listened as it turned. The maid dropped into a quick curtsy as he crossed the threshold.

He was happy to see that the Slayer, with the help of her new lady’s maid, had finished dressing and was just getting the finishing touches done to her hair.

“Good. You’re ready. I have a hack waiting below to take us to my country estate.”

Elizabeth rose gracefully from her seat. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in his changed appearance.

_‘He looks almost human,’_ she thought. _‘Just like an English Lord.’_ She gave him a quick curtsy and allowed him to lead her from the room and down the stairs. They took the back exit again, not wanting to incite a riot among the drunken customers of the tavern.

Seeing the ravishing, dark-haired beauty making her way towards him, Willie jumped down from his perch and opened the door. He held it wide as Spike assisted her inside before stepping in after her. Her new lady’s maid followed behind him, sitting across from them in the vacant seat, as Spike wanted to sit next to the Slayer.

Willie shut the door and climbed back up on his perch. With a flick of his whip, the horses were in motion and they were on their way to Spike’s new home.


	4. Chapter 4

Spike had never been so grateful as when they pulled up the long, winding drive to the country estate he seemed to have inherited – along with the title – from the half-demon. He had forgotten how hard traveling in a carriage could be on a person. The Slayer sat beside him, prim and proper. But on closer inspection, he could tell that she was ready to drop, the constant jarring apparently having gotten to her.

He knew that if she thought she could get away with it, she would be leaning into his side to ease the ache that had, no doubt, settled in her lower back. Unfortunately, her new lady’s maid was taking her temporary chaperone job to heart. 

Spike was quite tempted to eat her.

His demon had become especially territorial towards the Slayer since he realized that he would be claiming her.

A thought that puzzled him the more he thought about it.

He put having a talk with the maid as soon as possible on his growing list of things to do once the bloody contraption stopped.

The rain had started about an hour into their trip, causing the wheels to stick in the quick-forming mud the road was turning into. The only good thing about the rain was that it would enable him to enter the front door without causing the staff to wonder why he had left the womenfolk behind as he raced up the steps.

As if in answer to his prayer – or more like someone upstairs had realized he was about to explode from impatience – the hack rolled to a halt before the seeming miles of steps leading to the entrance.

He was somewhat surprised to find upon opening the carriage door that his staff was lining the steps to welcome the master home; the rain pouring down on their heads drenching them to the bone. Rolling his eyes at their foolish dedication, he quickly alighted from the coach, turning to help the Slayer down onto solid ground. He didn’t say a word as he strode up the steps to get out of the rain, didn’t bother to acknowledge their bobbed curtsies and bows as he passed, pulling a thoroughly exhausted Slayer behind him. No sense standing on ceremony while the rain was coming down in buckets.

His housekeeper moved to welcome him home, dropping into a curtsy, even as her hair hung limply down the sides of her face from the rain.

“Inside,” Spike commanded brusquely. “No sense telling me the state of my home in this downpour. And, call the damn staff inside as well. I don’t want to have to call the physician round because you all stood out in the rain to welcome me home.”

The housekeeper nodded fervently while he barked out instructions, trailing beside him as he ascending the steps. Turning to the assembled masses with a few pointed looks, she quickly dispersed them to see to their duties.

“Oh, and put the driver up for the night. I don’t think the rain’s going to be letting up anytime soon.”

With that final command he walked through the door, held open by the butler.

“Welcome home, m’lord… m’lady.”

“Errr…”

“Higgins, sir.”

“Right! Thank you, Higgins. Good to be in out of the rain.”

“Yes it is, sir.” He moved to shut the front door, cutting off the chill wind sweeping through the foyer.

“I can have Mary show m’lady to her room.” Mary had walked forward as her name was mentioned. She bobbed a curtsy to the Slayer before starting up a running monologue as she led her up the stairs. The Slayer’s maid would no doubt be shown the way to her lady’s room by one of the staff.

Alone in the hall with Higgins, Spike leaned close and said, “Lady Summers will be staying with us indefinitely as she is now my ward. She is going to need clothes, shoes, the works. Make arrangements to have someone come round tomorrow… or if there’s a local seamstress?”

“I’ll take care of it, sir.”

“Very good. I’ll be in my study and don’t wish to be disturbed.” With that, Spike strode off, unerringly finding the study.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike poured himself a stiff drink from one of the decanters on the bar. He eyed the thick drapes, glad to see that the masculine lines and décor of the room allowed for them to be heavy enough to block out the sun’s deadly rays that might have lit up the room through the massive windows otherwise. 

Walking behind the desk, he pulled the packet of papers Doyle had thrust upon him before he’d disappeared. With a sigh at the situation he had suddenly found himself in, Spike plopped down in the seat behind the desk and toed off the shoes that he had come to curse the longer he had to wear them. He swore to himself that he was going to walk around barefoot until boots came into fashion. Maybe he could help the trend along by having a few pairs commissioned to his specifications.

He opened the packet of papers and started reading. Inside were detailed descriptions of his holdings, his ancestry…all the knowledge he would need to pull off being the Earl of Arundel. It shouldn’t be too hard; he’d always been a quick study. And since the Slayer was currently oblivious to her true self, he wouldn’t have to worry about finding someone to educate her on the finer points of being an English lady.

A few hours later he locked the contents away from prying eyes then finished his brandy in one quick swallow. It was time to locate the Slayer and make her his for all eternity. One part of him rebelled at this… yet, part of him, a part he refused to acknowledge, was looking forward to it.

To have her tied to him forever.

Spike licked his lips in anticipation.

He left his study in stocking feet, silently making his way up the staircase. He followed her scent and realized that she had been shown to the lady’s chambers – a suite of rooms that had a connecting door to the master bedroom. With a smile on his face, he continued down the hall to his bedroom.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike stepped inside his room, his eyes quickly darting to his valet.

“You can go, ummm…”

“Travis, sir.”

“Yes, of course. Travis. I won’t be needing you this evening.” He was impatient to get next door. And he couldn’t do that with a room full of people.

“Very good, sir.” The man gave a slight bow before he left to, no doubt, return to the kitchens to relay his mood to the butler and housekeeper. _‘Ahhh… some things never change.’_

Spike took his coat off and slung it over a high-backed chair. The vest quickly followed. Ignoring the mirror, he undid several buttons on his white silk shirt. As he eyed the discarded clothes, he thought longingly of the black t-shirt and jeans he had had to leave behind.

Turning away from the chair, Spike crossed the room to the connecting door. He paused, listening for a moment.

She was alone.

He opened the door and came to an abrupt halt. An unneeded breath hitched in his throat as he gazed at the vision before him. The Slayer was sitting on the floor before the fire. Garbed in a simple white nightgown, she must have just finished her bath if her wet hair was any indication. She sat there, brush in hand, running it through long auburn locks that fell about her waist. They were pulled to one side as she worked the brush through the thick tresses.

His eyes zeroed in on his mark.

_His._

He could feel himself swelling behind the snug knee breeches he wore. He watched as she paused in her actions momentarily, as if sensing that she had an audience. Yet, she didn’t turn to look at him. A reluctant smile tugged at his lips as she tried to appear cool and calm before him. Unfortunately for her, he easily heard the sound of her blood as it pounded in her veins, which seemed to get faster, louder, the closer he got. Her hand stilled in her hair once he stood behind her, and he reached down and took the brush from her hands and sat in the chair behind her.

“Let me,” he said softly. She nodded not saying anything, just scooted closer to the chair so he could easily reach her.

It seemed like he spent hours brushing her hair. The intimate action soothed him for some reason and he was reluctant to stop. Her breathy moans were slowly driving him to distraction; she probably didn’t realize the arousing sounds she was making. But, he did… so, too, did his demon. Right now, it was urging him – no, _demanding_ – that he take her, claim her as his.

He would. He just wanted to take his time, set the scene. Allow her to relax in his presence. Again, why, he wasn’t sure. Only that he didn’t want to cheat himself of the experience.

After an indeterminable amount of time, her hair was finally dry. Spike replaced the brush with his fingers, running them through her hair, massaging her scalp.

At first, she stiffened, unused to having a man’s hands so familiar with her person. But as the tips of his fingers kneaded her scalp – his wicked touch causing her eyes to close in pleasure – she relaxed against him once more, letting him weave his magic.

Spike was surprised at the responsiveness of the Slayer. On some deeper level, she must have been aware of what was going on. Because as an English lady, she would have been having an attack of the vapors at having a virtual stranger all but molesting her.

Her head fell back to lie on his thigh, exposing her neck to his gaze. His fingers left her hair to trail down the long expanse of her pale throat, teasing the marks he had left. He knew that rubbing them would drive her crazy, and he breathed deeply as he smelled the first stirrings of her desire perfume the air around them.

Her heady aroma was too much for his demon to bear; he couldn’t control himself and his face shifted, his eyes blazing an unholy yellow in the storm-darkened bedroom. Licking his lips in anticipation, he leaned towards her neck displayed so temptingly before him. His fangs trailed back and forth across her smooth skin, lightly grazing it, before nicking her flesh, allowing a single crimson drop to pool upon her neck. 

Spike’s tongue darted out to lap at the speck of blood. The tastes barely whet his appetite.

She shifted again, exposed herself even more, arched into his touch.

_‘She wants this as much as I do,’_ Spike thought to himself, slightly amazed.

He needed to move someplace else. It was that thought that had him lifting her up in his arms and carrying her swiftly to the monstrous bed that dominated the room. He laid her down on the cool sheets – the covers having been drawn by her maid – and before she had time to protest, he stretched out alongside her, nuzzling her neck. He knew that teasing the place he had bitten was the most sure-fire way to get her to relax against him.

When he felt her settle down, he allowed his hands to wander over her petite form. Face, neck, breasts, and stomach – all were privy to his touch. The Slayer, for her part, alternately keened and gasped at the sensations shuddering through her body. Wanting to feel her bare skin beneath his fingertips, he made quick work of removing her nightgown.

It fell away to reveal toned arms and legs; high, firm breasts; and dark, silky curls that begged for him to discover the secrets they held. Now that she was naked to his touch, his hands and mouth played over her body. Each touch, each caress, caused her body to grow tauter, until she was strung so tight... 

He could feel it; she was so close. A flick of his thumb over her clitoris as he slipped a finger past her outer folds into the warm, wet heat of her body would be enough to trigger her orgasm. 

Spike backed off for the moment. Allowing her body to calm somewhat, he stood up beside the bed and stripped off his shirt, breeches and stockings. They were gone so fast, she didn’t have time to cry out her disappointment before his bare body was flush against hers again. She didn’t even flinch as his erection nudged against her hip.

He set to work again, bringing her body back to the brink of release. When he knew she could stand it no longer, he nudged her legs apart and settled between them. Then he slid down her body until he could breathe in the intoxicating scent lingering on her dark, glistening curls. He trailed a finger up and down her slit, not probing, just a gentle stroke to get her acquainted with his touch. Her hips came up off the bed as her body responded to the sinful pleasure. Her head fell back and her mouth opened, forming a silent “o.”

~*~*~*~*~

When a single digit slipped inside her, Elizabeth knew that she was going to Hell because of the sinful pleasure her body was experiencing. Surely, gentle-born ladies didn’t conduct themselves in such a fashion! But, oh God, it felt heavenly. She heard a ragged moaning sound in the room and was shocked to discover that it came from her; she couldn’t seem to help the mewling sounds that passed her lips. The pleasure William was bringing her body was too great not to voice her approval, even if it was unintelligible. 

Then his thumb circled the bundle of nerves at her apex and she was helpless to stop the quivering that erupted within her body. 

“Ooooohhhh….”

~*~*~*~*~

Spike watched as the Slayer’s orgasm washed over her. He could feel her inner walls milking his finger and he wanted nothing more than to move up her body and bury himself deep within her heat. His finger continued to slide in and out of her as she rode out her release. 

When he felt the last tremor finally end, he removed his hand from between her legs and crawled up her body. Using her body’s secretions, he coated his burgeoning length, making it nice and slick to aid him as he slipped inside her beckoning depths. Grabbing his cock, he positioned himself at her entrance and pushed his way inside. 

He didn’t go deep, allowing her body to adjust to his invasion for a minute before pulling his hips back slightly and thrusting forward once again. Over and over it went, until Spike could feel her maidenhead. Sensing that this was it, he urged her to open her eyes and look at him.

Passion-filled hazel eyes were pinned by his own, helpless to look away.

“Hang on, love.”

With no other warning, he pushed past the barrier, sheathing himself to the hilt. Her shocked gasp had him stilling within her, allowing her body to adjust to his invasion. 

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her eyes squeezed shut at the pain, and a few tears fell from her eyes to trail silently down her cheeks. It had been feeling so good, the things he was doing to her, right up until this moment. Now, she just wanted him to stop what he was doing so she could curl up into a ball and hide from the pain.

Spike noticed her tears and his tongue darted out to halt their progress down her face. He knew he had hurt her, but it couldn’t be helped. Now, he just had to wait while her body adjusted to his… then, he’d show how deep her pleasure could be.

“Shhhh, kitten. It’s alright,” he soothed. Where the calming tone came from he didn’t know. Didn’t much care, either. He could berate himself for his behavior tomorrow. For now, he wanted… this. _Connection._ “The pain is over. Now it’s just pleasure. I promise.” 

Her eyes opened at his soft, reassuring words. She was amazed with how gentle he was being with her. Then he flexed his hips, and whatever thought she had been thinking instantaneously fled her mind.

As he began to slowly move, she had to admit he was right. Her pain had faded and pleasure was bubbling up from her core and quickly making its way to her limbs. The intense feelings were almost too much for her body to handle.

“Oh, God…. Slayer…”

“Elizabeth,” she reminded him, blushing at her audacity.

“ _Elizabeth_ …” His breathless murmur as he voiced her name did strange things to her. Her arms tightened around him, her legs unknowingly lifted to wrap around his lower back, thereby increasing the depth of his thrusts.

“Oh yes… like that…” he murmured. “Feels so good… mine… all mine…”

Elizabeth held him tighter as his pace increased. The riotous emotions swirling within her body prevented her from speaking. So she held on, praying that he would catch her when she fell.

His need to possess her caused the slow-moving tenderness he was showing to slip away. Now he thrust into her body; long, deep strokes that drove both of them closer to completion. 

His demon broke free, ready to stake its claim. He gazed down at her, his yellow eyes gleaming as they watched her face.

Trying to reassure him – why, she didn’t know – Elizabeth removed one hand from where it held him close to her body, to trail across the ridges on his brow. 

His eyes closed as he continued to thrust into her, shocked that she didn’t appear the least bit scared of him. It was almost as if she were reassuring him. The idea was almost laughable, yet for some reason, his demon basked in her gentle touch.

“Come to me,” she whispered.

And he was undone.

With a groan, he lowered his fangs to her neck, piercing her delicate flesh. He bit deep, knowing that he was hurting her. But he was marking her. Stating his claim for the world to see… and heed. This mark would last forever. His claim sealing her fate, her life, to his for all eternity.

Elizabeth cried out as his fangs went deep, deeper than before. When he began to suck her blood into his mouth, she was undone. Each pull of her blood caused an answering throb where he was steadily sliding in and out of her. He took one last deep pull from her neck and she was lost, exploding into a thousand pieces, the dual penetration too much for her to bear.

“Spike!” she bellowed, sounding momentarily like her slayer-self.

He ripped his fangs from her neck, blood coating his lips. “Mine! Say it!” he commanded. He stilled within her, tense, waiting. Feeling her body clench around him as she came down from her orgasm. Gritting his teeth because he wanted to let go, to slam into her and seek his own release.

Her eyes finally opened; she looked up at him, dazed, yet filled with wonder, awed at the pleasure she’d just experience. She answered instinctively, “Yours. Now and forever.”

Nicking his tongue on his fang he leaned down and kissed her. As his tongue wended its way inside, his blood spilled forth into her mouth. Abruptly, he ended the kiss.

“Blood of my blood. Forever marked mine.”

Then he was moving once more. His tongue darted out – still bleeding – to lick the fresh marks he had made. His blood mixed with his saliva preventing the marks from ever fading, signaling to all vampires that she was his.

Now that his mark had been seen too, he was ready to allow the pleasure of being inside the Slayer to overtake him.

Spike held her close as he resumed his deep thrusts within her body. Taking the Slayer along with him, needing her as lost as he felt himself becoming. Sensing her near-capitulation, he reached down between their joined bodies to rub his thumb in circles around her clit. Her eyes went wide and her body seemed to explode as her orgasm washed over her, forcing Spike to his own. With a roar, he sank his fangs back in her neck, thrusting a few more times before he gave in to his body’s release.

He collapsed on top of her thoroughly sated, and the two attempted to recover. After a few moments, Spike pulled out and rolled to the side, realizing his weight was probably too great for her slight frame. Slipping an arm underneath her neck, he hauled her close to his side and nuzzled her neck.

Elizabeth half-sprawled on top of him, too sated to move.


	5. Chapter 5

Elizabeth wasn’t surprised when she woke and found herself alone. Appearances had to be maintained, after all, and having the earl caught in her bed by a member of his staff would ruin her reputation instantly. It was practically scandalous to have just her maid acting as her chaperone, even with all the other female staff running about. Never mind that she’d been shown the lady’s suite of rooms, rather than a guest chamber farther down the hall. She sincerely hoped Spike–

_‘Now, where had that name come from?’_ she thought to herself.

Shaking her head at her foolishness, she allowed her eyelids to drift shut as her mind replayed the events of last night. A smile on her face, she remembered…

_They lay together, her body half draped over his when he hauled her snug against his side. His possessiveness pleased her; she was grateful that he hadn’t just made use of her body and left. For surely now that she was no longer a virgin, her reputation would be in tatters if he did leave. Even so, she felt unsure of herself. So much so that she couldn’t prevent herself from whispering his name._

_“William?”_

_At first Spike didn’t answer. He was reeling from the possessive feelings coursing through his body. Even now, he wanted her again. His demon was clamoring for another taste of her. He had thought he could just claim her and maintain his distance, but apparently The Powers had other ideas._

_‘Yeah, right, Spike. Use that excuse if it helps makes it easier to swallow.’_

_Apparently, his lack of a response was affecting her. He felt her stiffen in his arms and try to pull away. He tightened his hold on her, burying his nose in her neck to nuzzle his mark. She immediately calmed and settled beside him once more. Remembering that she had called his name – his sorta fictitious name concocted by the Powers – he answered her._

_“What is it, pet?”_

_“Nothing,” she mumbled into his side._

_“None of that now. What did you want to ask me?”_

_“I just…” she couldn’t go on, burying her face in his chest in shame and embarrassment._

_Surprising himself at his gentleness, Spike used fingers and a coaxing tone to get her to look at him._

_Elizabeth was sucked into his penetrating gaze, unable to pull herself away from his hypnotic trance. Realizing she couldn’t turn away, but refusing to look at him as she voiced her question, she closed her eyes and whispered, “I just… I… did I please you? You’re not going to leave me now, are you?”_

_“Never, kitten,” he whispered as he pulled her down for another kiss._

Elizabeth suddenly found herself on her back, William having rolled their bodies so that he half-lay on top of her. 

_Hours slipped by as he proved to her over and over again that he would always be there for her._

Elizabeth shifted under the covers as she relived the many hours spent in William’s arms, then winced at the pain she felt between her legs. 

Speaking of pain…

She lifted the sheets and glanced down at her naked body– Wait, not naked body. Noticing the clean sheets, she blushed several becoming shades of red. Apparently, that part _hadn’t_ been a dream either…

_Spike carefully disentangled his arm from underneath the Slayer’s sleeping form. Reluctant to leave her, yet knowing that they couldn’t be caught together, he pulled away from the warmth of her body. He was almost to the connecting door before a thought occurred to him._

_Veering towards the folding screen, Spike stepped behind it to stand before the water basin. Pouring some water from the pitcher, he grabbed a cloth and made his way back towards the Slayer. He eased the covers off her body, exposing her nude form to his gaze, his eyes zeroing in on her virgin’s blood smattering the otherwise pristine sheets. From there, his gaze traveled up her bare legs to the blood coating her inner thighs._

_Spike leaned over the bed, his face making a beeline for her mound; he licked his lips in anticipation of cleaning her up, the wet cloth he held in his hand momentarily forgotten. His lips were moments away from their goal when he heard her moan in her sleep as she rolled from her side to her back._

_He couldn’t stop the low growl that rumbled from his chest and escaped through his parted lips as he gazed at her laid out so openly before him._

_Elizabeth came awake to the feel of his raspy tongue gliding up her inner thighs. Her hips shot off the mattress as his cool tongue laved her legs. She would have blushed crimson and tried valiantly to push him away if she had realized that he was using his tongue to clean her. As it was, she surprised herself by holding his head in place as his tongue slowly worked its way to her mound to begin his wicked torture to that sensitized part of her body._

_In the aftermath of her climax, she had drifted off to sleep once again. She didn’t stir as her body was gently lifted and the sheets removed and replaced with fresh linens. Didn’t even twitch as Spike used the softest of touches to pull her nightgown back over her head. She did, however, nuzzle into his hand as his fingers trailed softly down her cheek before he slipped silently from the room._

Elizabeth couldn’t believe her wantonness of the previous evening. If anyone were to ever find out that she was no longer a virgin...

She shuddered to think of the consequences. 

And that in itself was a shock. Surely there must be something wrong with her. To allow William to do those things to her, and him a monster, no less. If she could work up the courage, she would have to ask him just what exactly he was. 

Her mind drifted back to the first time he had bitten her, when she had been in that strange land, the budding sensations she had felt. When she had returned home – if one could call waking up in a dank alley being home – he’d bitten her again, just before he had stormed out of the room that other gentleman had procured at the tavern. There was some kind of pull he exuded that she seemed powerless to resist. It was as if her maidenly protestations fell by the wayside allowing her to embrace the wicked – and surely they had to be wicked – feelings coursing through her body in anticipation of his special touch. 

She remembered how she had waited up for him, knowing instinctively that he would be coming to her. How she had unconsciously tempted him with the picture she made in her almost-transparent white nightgown, as she sat before the fire. What she _should_ have been doing was running as fast as she could in the opposite direction. But she hadn’t. She’d practically begged him to bite her! Turned her innocent face up to his in a gesture of total supplication. 

Something must have happened to her when she had suddenly found herself in such an unfamiliar place, surrounded by complete strangers, making her feel… out of sorts. Why was she not running scared from him? Why did she encourage his touch, practically seek it out? All these strange emotions and feelings were swirling around in her head, yet refusing to take hold. Any time she thought she was getting close to an answer, the idea drifted away, leaving confusion dancing in its wake. 

Elizabeth wasn’t even surprised when she felt the insistent throbbing between her legs as she relived their heated encounter. After last night, she now knew what it meant. What shocked her was that all she wanted to do right now was climb out of her bed and sneak through the connecting door into his room. Wanted to feel his teeth as they bit into her neck. Listen to him as he practically purred his enjoyment. 

_‘Wouldn’t the staff be shocked then!?’_

Elizabeth giggled to herself at the absurdity of that notion while gently fingering the marks left on her throat. She wasn’t allowed to delve further into her unexpected capitulation because suddenly there was a brief knock at her door before her lady’s maid, Heather, was pushing her way inside.

Heather paid no mind to the inner turmoil of her mistress. Rather, she started an animated monologue about the estate, her quarters, the master, all as she flitted about the room to stoke the fire before opening the heavy curtains to allow the morning rays to help warm the room. 

Elizabeth had tuned her out until she caught the tail end of her maid’s conversation. 

“…seamstress will be ‘ere shortly to get you fitted for yer new wardrobe. The master kindly offered to pay for a new one since he believes it was ‘is fault yer trunks were stolen. And, mistress, I heard tell he was: spare no expense, just make sure she has whatever she needs.” 

Elizabeth thought of the single dress she had to her name and prayed the seamstress would be able to get something finished for her today. Maybe she could loll about in her room this afternoon, pleading exhaustion, so as not to indicate to the staff her lack of decent apparel. 

“Would you like me to bring you a tray?” 

“That would be lovely. Some tea and possibly a scone?” 

Heather bobbed a curtsy and quickly left to get the requested items for her mistress. 

As soon as the door closed behind the maid, Elizabeth scrambled out of bed and rushed to the connecting door. Gingerly, her hands played with the bite mark, worrying the twin holes that had closed over last night and were now a permanent faded scar.

_‘I just want to check on him,’_ she argued with herself as she crept quickly to the door. _‘Make sure he didn’t leave me.’_

The excuse to gaze upon him sounded flimsy to her ears, but she ignored it and opened the door anyway. A slight creak sounded in the silence, and she stilled just across the threshold, her eyes darting to the massive bed to look for any signs of movement. 

She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted him asleep on the bed. Her eyes widened and she blushed to the roots of her hair when she actually noticed his body on the bed. His _naked_ body. Blushing like the virgin she no longer was, she quickly rushed out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her so as not to awaken him, then made haste back to her bed. 

_‘What is wrong with me? First, I let him do those wicked things to my body. And now I’m ogling him like some courtesan of old! What spell has he cast over me that has me throwing my morals to the wind and rushing after him like some two-bit whore?’_

Sensing no answers to the tumultuous thoughts churning in her mind, she reluctantly put the matter aside and waited patiently for her maid to return with her breakfast. 

Elizabeth lay back against the pillows propped against the headboard and let her eyes close. Her mind drifted and images started to flitter through her mind: _a tall, slim young man walking beside her, a girl with long brownish-red hair on the opposite side of him; an older man with glasses; scary monsters traversing a graveyard._

Her maid walked back into the room and Elizabeth slipped out of her semi-trance at the noise; she couldn’t for the life of her recall the images of just moments ago. Shrugging daintily, she promptly forgot about it, instead concentrating on the tray being set upon her lap.


	6. Chapter 6

Spike lay perfectly still as he heard the Slayer open the connecting door and step just inside his room. He could hear her heart pounding in her chest and was surprised she didn’t faint from overexertion. Slayers could take the unnecessary strain on their bodies, but this was 1775 England and unfortunately, the Slayer wasn’t playing with a full deck right now. He gave a silent chuckle as he realized that the “Slayer of Slayers” had now claimed one.

Then he immediately frowned.

He was a vampire for God’s sake! And what was with his “making nice” all of a sudden? Just because she was his now, didn’t mean he had to treat her like she was his queen. That role belonged to his Dark Princess, Drusilla. The Slayer was just a means to an end until he could get back to his time and be reunited with her. 

Then he smelt the Slayer’s arousal and all thoughts of Drusilla were thrust aside as his demon became desperate to reassert his claim on her. 

Too bad she had slammed out of his room before he could make good on his intentions. 

Grumbling at the earliness of the hour, he flung the sheets away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up and reached for his breeches from where he had dropped them on the chair as he had returned from the Slayer’s room a few hours ago. 

He vaguely heard her maid as she returned next door with the Slayer’s breakfast. Before long, he could make out additional heartbeats, then excited voices as a bunch of women gushed over her body while they were apparently taking her measurements.

_‘Good. That should keep her occupied most of the day.’_

There was a sharp rap at his bedroom door before it opened, revealing his valet, Travis. 

“Good morning, m’lord. I trust you slept well?” he asked respectfully. 

“Mmm…” 

“I took the liberty of bringing you something to drink.” 

“’m not thirst...” Spike’s voice trailed off as he caught a whiff of blood, human blood. His head snapped around as he zeroed in on the glass perched on a serving tray the valet carried. That his valet was even carrying a serving tray had him quirking his scared brow inquiringly. 

“It’s not just my skills with laying out your clothing that has awarded me the position as your valet, m’lord,” Travis answered the unspoken question. “My family has been serving vampires as far back as I can remember.” 

“And you’re not worried that I’m going to bite you?” Spike growled, trying to recover from his astonishment. 

The valet drew himself up stiffly in the face of his master’s ire and retorted unwaveringly, “My family has the protection of the Aurelian line.” 

“Aurelian line, you say?” He stalked towards the valet, stopped just a hairsbreadth in front of him before leaning down and saying, “Well, I guess it’s a good thing for you that I am Aurelian then, isn’t it.” 

“But… but, that’s not possible! I would have known of any master in their line.” 

“Trust me, you’ll be dead long before your family will learn about me,” he replied with a snort. 

“But…” 

“Never mind.” Spike snagged the glass of blood off the tray before the valet managed to drop it. He lifted the glass to his lips and drained it in a few quick swallows before returning the empty glass to the tray the valet still held outstretched in his arms. “So, tell me, who else knows what I am?” 

The valet said nothing. 

“Travis?” he called impatiently. 

“Wha? Huh? Oh… right…sorry, m’lord. Who knows? Just senior staff: myself; Higgins, the butler; Mrs. Cremshaw, the housekeeper; and Mrs. Wadsworth, the cook.” 

“And where are the Aurelians keeping themselves these days?” 

“Uh… that would be back in London, m’lord. Higgins has the direction. But if you go there and you’re not who you claim you are, they’ll kill you on sight.” 

“Well, they can certainly try, now can’t they? Now, tell me there’s something in here that will fit me.” 

“Well, of course, m’lord. This is your residence.” He didn’t notice that his words seemed to contradict his earlier statement about him being aware of all the Aurelian master vampires.

_‘Guess The Powers didn’t dot all of their I’s, now did they?’_ Spike smirked.

“Right. Well, set something out for me and have someone inform Lady Summer’s that I will be gone for a few days… business to see to. I’m sure there’s some needlepoint or some such nonsense that will keep her entertained until I return?” 

“Yes, m’lord. And, Lady Summer’s…” 

“Is _mine_!” Spike growled.

“Very good, sir.”

Travis knew when to keep his mouth shut. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike had every intention of departing for London without seeing the Slayer before he took his leave. He had even gotten so far as climbing into his coach and starting down the winding drive before he pounded his cane against the roof and demanded the driver turn around. 

Growling at himself in frustration he barked out a harsh “I’ll be right back” to the stunned driver. He wasn’t surprised that the butler had the door open before he could reach it; it was probably written in the job description or something. 

Ignoring him, Spike darted up the staircase towards his room, startling a few upstairs maids along the way. He opened his bedroom door and stepped inside his room, grateful to see it was empty, quickly shut the door and crossed to the connecting door. 

_‘What the hell am I doing?’_ he grumbled silently to himself. _‘These nancy-boy clothes must be wearing off on me!’_

Growling in frustration, he turned around and walked away from the connecting door. Was halfway across his room to leave again before he stopped. 

“Bloody hell!” he roared. He wasn’t even aware his human features slid away as he stomped across the floor, back to the connecting door. He didn’t pause, just grabbed the knob and turned the handle, almost breaking it off in his haste. 

He stepped inside the Slayer’s bedroom, his gaze scanning the room for her. Yellow eyes glittered dangerously as they zeroed in on her sitting before the vanity. He watched as she let out a startled gasp when she became aware of his presence. 

A few quick strides and Spike was across the room, pulling the Slayer to her feet and shoving her up against the wall. He didn’t give her time to protest as he lowered his head and ravaged her mouth. 

Forgetting about his vamped visage, he was startled when he suddenly smelled her blood on the air. He stopped momentarily to look down at her. Blood trickled from a cut on her lip where his fang had nicked her. The sight had him groaning softly before he lowered his head again so that he could lick the red trail from her face. 

“William,” she whispered softly as his tongue darted out to clean the blood that was making a path down her chin. Her arousal washed over his senses and there was no way he was leaving without having her again. 

He fumbled with her skirts, raising them up over her waist before seeing to his breeches. 

“Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded huskily. She obeyed him immediately, mindless to the almost violent nature of his loving. 

His lust was too great to be gentle with her. As soon as his cock sprang free from its confinement, he wrapped his hand around the base, guiding it to her opening. He didn’t prepare her, just thrust into her warmth, causing her body to slam back against the wall. His mouth closed over hers to silence the cries that would otherwise flood the room and possibly alert the staff. 

Over and over Spike thrust into her willing body, her whimpered cries of ecstasy captured by his mouth, slowly driving him insane. 

“Look at me, Slayer,” he demanded as he tore his mouth from hers.

Her eyes fluttered open, revealing her dazed, passion-filled gaze. His body kept up its unrelenting pace as his eyes pinned her in place. 

“Mine! Say it!” he growled. 

Her mouth parted as if to speak, to say the words he seemed desperate to hear, but they seemed locked in her throat. The mind-numbing ecstasy coursing through her slight frame incapacitated her vocal cords so that she could only mouth the words he demanded. 

Spike stared intently at her flushed face. She was so close to the edge and craving the sweet release he could give her. She had taken to biting her bottom lip to keep from crying out her pleasure as the frenzied movement of he drove his cock harder and deeper into her body. 

Suddenly, his forceful thrusts became too much and her body convulsed around his length, drenching it with her release. When she unconsciously bit his neck with blunt teeth to muffle her cries, Spike lost it. With a fierce growl, he buried his fangs into her neck and came. 

As his cock pulsated with his release, Elizabeth’s body shook with her second orgasm, causing Spike to groan against her neck as he pulled her blood into his mouth. 

When he was finally spent, he withdrew his fangs from her neck and licked the new wound closed, then slowly eased from her body, setting her clothes and his to rights. Rather than just take his leave, he gathered her close and bore her across the room and to her bed, easing her down on top of the covers.

With a last lingering look, he turned on his heels and walked away. 

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he ground out before slamming the door behind him. 

Elizabeth gazed at the closed door, a bemused smile playing across her lips as her fingers trailed over the fresh marks on her neck. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike couldn’t believe it. He’d done it again. Instead of using her and discarding her when he was finished, he’d ended up being gentle with her again.

_‘Bloody hell!’_

He would have plenty of time to beat himself up over his behavior as the coach made its way towards London. Maybe once he was around the company of other vampires he’d be able to shake these softening feelings he was having for the Slayer. 

He leaned back in his seat and mentally calculated all the things he needed to accomplish while in London.


	7. Chapter 7

The ride to London had been uneventful. Spike was even in high spirits after an aborted robbery attempt. The three highwaymen picked the wrong night and the wrong carriage to accost. He chuckled to himself as he recalled their shocked expression, while leaning back in his seat, sated from the meal he’d had not an hour before. There’d been a loud thud which he’d correctly assumed was his driver being knocked unconscious by one of the would be highwaymen. Then his coach had rolled to an abrupt halt miles from his destination. An evil smile had graced his lips; if anyone had been privy to it, they would have been wise to run far and fast in the other direction. As it was, he’d schooled his features into what passed for bored indifference and stepped out of the carriage when directed to do so.

He’d appeared properly subdued... for all of two seconds.

Or maybe it had been one.

The robbers never knew what hit them. He’d been especially brutal, as if to reaffirm that he was still a fierce demon, and the emotions the Slayer had seemed to elicit in him were just a fluke. Their terrified cries told him that he had indeed been successful in that regard. 

After he had finished his mini-torture session, he’d drained the three, dumping their bodies in a ditch beside the dirt road. He’d licked the stray drops of blood from his lips as his human guise slipped back into place, and he’d gone around the front of the coach to rouse the driver. They’d continued their journey into the city moments later as if nothing had happened.

Maybe now, after a little spot of violence, he would remember what he was and wouldn’t be such a git when it came to dealing with the Slayer. 

The coach finally came to a stop inside the city proper, and Spike sat up as he felt the presence of vampires. They must have arrived at their destination. Swinging down from his coach without bothering to wait for the driver, he straightened his evening attire before glancing up at the gentleman’s club the coach had stopped before: _Whitt’s_. Spike rather liked the idea of hiding in plain sight; it was a lot different than the views of his grandsire, Angelus. 

“Be back just before dawn,” he told the driver. Spike just prayed the lad had the good sense to go socialize with others of his kind and not become vamp food. The driver nodded and snapped the reins, getting the horses moving once again. 

Spike climbed the steps to the club and the door opened just as he reached the threshold. 

“Good evening, m’lord. This is a private…” 

“I have an invitation,” he interrupted, his eyes flashing yellow momentarily. 

The doorman’s eyes narrowed, assessing him, before widening in surprise. “Aurelius?” 

Spike nodded but didn’t respond. The short, squat man hurried to apologize. “I wasn’t aware…” 

“You won’t be for some time, mate. Mind if I come in?” 

“Oh, yes, of course, of course. Forgive me, m’lord.” The man bowed while backing out of the way to allow Spike to enter. The door closed softly behind him, and he removed his cape and handed it and his cane to the doorman. 

He sensed both human and demon alike within the club and he arched his scarred brow in silent query. “Ahh…” 

“Jenkins, m’lord.” 

“So, tell me Jenkins, why are humans in an Aurelian safe house?” 

“Well, if you want to own a gentleman’s club, an elite gentleman’s club, you have to cater to the ton. And since a good portion of the ton is made up of humans, it makes sense to allow the upper crust of society membership.” 

Spike nodded as if the man’s explanation made perfect sense. Why weren’t they still doing things like this when he’d come along? He watched as the doorman signaled discreetly to one of the minions mingling among the guests. The man gave a slight nod before finishing his conversation and walking over towards Spike and the doorman. 

“Jenkins, what can I do for you?” 

“You can show… I’m sorry, m’lord; I didn’t get your name.” 

“William Thornton, the Earl of Arundel,” Spike supplied. 

“Ah… yes, I had heard the earl had taken up residence again. So nice to finally put a face to the name,” the doorman replied. “Mr. Laitner, would you be so good as to show the earl around, introduce him to a few of our guests. See to it he’s made comfortable.” 

“Be happy to.” Turning away from Jenkins, he smiled at the master vampire. “Lord Arundel, this way… if you please.” 

Spike followed the minion as he led the way deeper into the club. All around him men of various ages – all impeccably dressed – sat in chairs reading or chatting with fellow members. Towards the back of the club were several card rooms full of tables where men won and lost huge sums of money on the turn of a card. Laitner bypassed both of those rooms, in turn heading towards the staircase that was roped off. 

“High stakes gambling, very discreet,” he said by way of explanation. Spike nodded again and continued to follow. Apparently, he was being taken before the current master of the house. Assuming a bored expression at their obvious ploy, he bided his time until it was the right moment to get the introductions out of the way. Maybe then, he could get his house to scrounge up an elder woman to act as the Slayer’s chaperone. 

“You’re lucky I’m in such an agreeable mood,” Spike announced as the minion finally stopped before the double doors at the end of the upstairs hallway. Their antiquated ways of doing things were quickly getting on his nerves, and his temper, never far from the surface began to show. 

Grabbing the increasingly wary minion by the lapels of his jacket, he hauled him close and growled, “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Releasing the minion, Spike shoved him towards the door. He’d obviously made an impression because it took the fledge several tries before he finally managed to open it. 

Standing to the side, Laitner allowed the master vampire to precede him into the room. Spike swaggered into the private chamber of the Aurelian line, instinctively knowing that he had several decades on the oldest vampire currently in the room. 

“Alright, let’s make this quick, shall we?” he announced as he strode boldly in the room. “Who’s in charge here?” 

Mr. Laitner rushed in front of Spike to introduce him to the rest of the group. 

“Ah… this is Lord William Thornton, the Earl of Arundel, of the Aurelian line.” 

“Aurelius line, you say? And, who is your Sire?” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike was on the verge of answering when he heard a commotion outside. He got a faint whiff of what was probably causing it, and began to swear. With the question left hanging in the air, he turned towards the door and the unwelcome visitor making such a commotion on the other side. 

“Fancy meeting you here, mate,” Spike commented to the figure held between two minions. He was still pissed about Doyle running off with his duster and smokes to let the half-demon off the hook so easily. 

“Yeah, well, the Powers neglected to tell me some things that I needed to pass on to you, so guess who gets to rush back to the rescue?” Doyle replied under his breath.

A reluctant smile flitted across the vampire’s lips at his disgruntled tone. He couldn’t blame the half-demon; Spike didn’t want to be here anymore than Doyle did. The two minions, seeing that the demon was an acquaintance of the master vampire, quickly released him from their hold. 

“What’s so ‘all important’ that you had to come rushing back here?” 

“Well, you’ve…” he glanced around at his audience then turned back to the platinum-haired vampire. Silently, he conveyed his need for privacy. 

“Why don’t we see about getting us a drink?” 

“Good idea.” Doyle replied. 

“You’ll excuse me for just a moment?” Spike posed the rhetorical question to the minion. “I’ll be back after I see that my friend is settled comfortably downstairs.” 

Mr. Laitner nodded and stepped back to allow the two to leave. When they were gone from sight, he walked over to the vamp sitting down at the table. The elder vampire wasn’t happy... clearly. But, it wasn’t their place to refuse a master vampire anything. Finally, he shrugged at the other’s silent enquiry. 

“If he wasn’t who he says he was and dared to claim lineage to the Aurelian line, he would have to know he’d be staked on sight.” 

The elder vampire nodded at this and returned to his task while awaiting the return of the master vampire calling himself Lord Arundel. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Tell me why you’re here again,” Spike demanded sarcastically. 

“You have to be careful about discussing your family tree. All anyone here needs to know is that you were sired by Angelus. Don’t, under any circumstances, mention Drusilla.” Doyle could see the emotion churning in the vampire and rushed to explain. “It has to do with the timeline, Spike. Drusilla isn’t due to be sired until 1860. If you mention her now, there’s a good chance that won’t come about. You can mention Angelus, because he’s already been turned. And according to my calculations, Angelus is still in Rome after that little altercation with Holtz. He and Darla will stay in Italy awhile before moving on to other countries in Europe and won’t make it back to England till about 1850, or so – give or take a few years.” 

“Let’s just bloody well hope I’ll be long gone by then and back in my real time,” Spike huffed. The way Doyle had made it sound, he’d be spending a lot of time in the past, which was not doing anything to improve his rapidly deteriorating mood.

“Oh, and don’t worry about the fact that the earl’s only been gone about ten years, yet you’ve reached master vampire status. The PTB’s have worked out that little glitch. As far as humans are concerned, you’re the earl come back after ten years abroad building your fortune. Vampire’s will just sense your advanced age, but will not be able to reconcile the discrepancies in the timeline.”

Spike snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Hey. They were thinking on their feet. It wasn’t like they’d planned for this, ya know.”

“Uh huh.”

Finishing his drink in one quick swallow, Spike told Doyle to wait downstairs for him, imparting that he was lucky he wasn’t dead after trying to break into the inner sanctum of the Aurelius safe house. Grinning at the half-breed’s suddenly pale face, Spike headed towards the stairs to conclude the interview with the house’s family members. 

~*~*~*~*~

Spike returned to the room upstairs and announced without preamble, “Angelus, sired by Darla, sired by the Master. Now… any more stupid questions, or can I get some assistance here?” 

As soon as the word “Master” had left Spike’s lips, all the vampires had stopped what they were doing to openly stare at him.

_‘That’s bloody more like it!’_

“What is it that you need?” the most senior vampire stammered out.

“I need a chaperone. I’ve a lady, a human, staying with me at my country estate, and I need an older woman present to act as a companion and chaperone.” 

The other vampires looked at one another before replying in unison, “Mrs. Rothworth!” 

“She human or vampire?” 

“Vampire. But she’s the person we call upon in situations like this.” 

“Just so you know, this lady, she’s mine. No harm will come to her.” 

“You claimed a human?” Mr. Laitner whispered in awe. 

“Yeah? What of it, mate?” Spike pinned the minion with a glacial stare. 

“It’s just, I’ve… uh… never heard of a vampire claiming a human before… I didn’t mean to offend.” He held up his hands in a placating gesture. 

“Right. How soon can word be gotten to this Mrs. Rothworth? I’d like to conclude my business here in London and be back on the road to my country residence by nightfall tomorrow.” 

“It shouldn’t be a problem. She maintains a townhouse here in London; we’ll send a runner over there straightaway.” 

“Good. I’ll wait for word downstairs.” Spike turned and walked out of the room leaving behind several vampires still in shock, first because even though they’d been able to sense his age, the master vampire was only three generations removed from the Master and second, because he had seen fit to claim a human – something that was rarely done by vampires anymore. It was much easier just to turn a human, rather than claim one. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike stomped back downstairs and crossed the room to where Doyle sat waiting for him. He got the attention of one of the waiters hovering about the room and held up two fingers. When the waiter returned with his brandy, Spike made sure to tell the man not to let his glass go empty. 

Plopping into a chair beside the half-breed he whined, “Tell me you brought my bloody smokes.” 

He practically drooled as Doyle searched his pockets and came up with a mangled pack of Marlboro’s and a matchbook. 

“Just don’t let the others get too close a look at ‘em,” Doyle reminded him as he handed them over. 

Spike glanced around the room and couldn’t help but notice how everyone gave him a wide berth. Apparently, his expression didn’t invite conversation. For some perverse reason, this pleased the vampire greatly. 

“So, anything else I need to know? Some other thing that I might inadvertently do to bollocks the time continuum or whatever you want to call it?” he asked snarkily. 

_‘How did I get picked for this again?’_ Doyle asked himself. _‘Nothing like dealing with a pissed off vampire, and fucking William the Bloody on top of it.’_

He let the thought go and opened his mouth to speak. 

“Look on the bright side, Spike. You’ve got the Slayer, a place in society, your family… well sorta, anyway. What more could you want?” 

“My dark princess,” he muttered into his cup. But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t entirely true. Instead of blue-grey eyes and dark brown hair, it was hazel eyes that seemed to haunt him. 

Shaking himself to clear the vision of the Slayer dancing before him, Spike stood up and moved off towards one of the gaming rooms. May as well play a few hands of whist while he waited for arrangements to be made. Doyle got up and followed after the vampire; he had some time to kill before the Powers called him back.

Besides, he still had yet to give the vampire the news that he was going to be stuck in the past for a good long while. Something he was in no hurry to do.

Better to wait until it was almost time to leave, then beat a hasty retreat before Spike could retaliate. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

It was nearly dawn when Spike got word that arrangements had been made for Mrs. Rothworth to drive out tomorrow evening and act as the Slayer’s chaperone. He collected his winnings as he stood, bidding a good night to the gentlemen around him. 

Word had spread like wildfire that the Earl of Arundel was back in London, and several gentlemen had come by to introduce themselves. He was sure that he’d have several invitations to various ton functions waiting at the townhouse he apparently kept in London. 

Feeling the itch of daylight approaching and not wanting to be stuck in the club for the afternoon, Spike motioned to Doyle that it was time to leave. The half-breed started towards the door, eager to conclude his latest errand and hightail it back to the present. He figured he could tell the vampire just as the sun was cresting over the horizon, preventing Spike from chasing after him and committing bodily harm. Although, he was sure the Powers would step in at some point. But still. Better to not tempt the fates like that. 

Spike was pleased to see his driver perched on the coach seat waiting for him. The servant, upon seeing his master, quickly hopped down and opened the carriage door with a grand flourish. He rolled his eyes at the driver’s exuberance and climbed inside, Doyle following behind. A moment later, the man was resettled on top and the horses were trotting off in the direction of his townhouse. 

“You plannin’ on spending the day?” Spike asked. 

“Uh… no… just wanted to make sure you were all settled in here… and to see that you had no problems with your identity. I’ll be taking off once you’re back at your townhouse.” 

Spike didn’t reply. He closed his eyes and laid his head back against the backrest, willing the driver to take a whip to the horses and hurry them along. He hated cutting it so close to sunrise. His demon seemed ready to claw its way out of his skin to find shelter. 

Ten minutes later, the carriage stopped, presumably in front of his residence. The coach wobbled from side to side as the driver got down from his seat and opened the door. Spike stepped outside and stared at the townhouse before him. 

_‘I really could get used to this,’_ Spike thought, eyeing the posh exterior of the building. Though weary beyond belief, he hurried up the walk to the front door – which opened before he managed to reach it. A bleary-eyed butler greeted him as he crossed the threshold. 

“Good morning, m’lord.” 

Spike grunted a response as he stepped into the foyer, too tired to bother figuring out his name. Doyle trailed in after him. 

“You change your mind, Doyle?” the vampire asked upon spying the half-breed lingering on his threshold. 

“Uh… no. Actually…” Doyle turned around and glanced outside. Grateful to see the sun peeking over the horizon, he slowly backed down the walk, ignoring the butler who held the door open for him. 

Spike quirked his brow and waited. He didn’t bother to follow, seeing the sunlight now slowly creeping its way towards his front step. 

“There’s just one more thing I’ve gotta tell you before I go.” 

“Yeah?” 

Doyle knew the speed of vampires and didn’t speak again until he was safely standing in sunlight. Aware of their exceptional hearing, he turned and started walking away, then tossed over his shoulder just as he reached the street, “You’re gonna be stuck here for some time yet, so… get used to it.”

With that, he disappeared around the corner, leaving behind a cursing vampire, who had no means to retaliate against him.


	8. Chapter 8

If Doyle hadn’t been halfway down the block – the rising sun be damned – Spike would have raced out the front door and chased after the half-breed, demanding the git fix whatever problem was keeping him in the past. He did _not_ want to have to relive history; he’d gotten used to the modern conveniences of his time. Say, electricity and drive-in movies – although, those were a rare commodity nowadays. 

Tamping down his frustration, Spike whirled away from the front door and strode deeper into the townhouse, leaving behind a thoroughly shocked butler. What he needed to do right now was get mind-numbingly drunk, then sleep the day away. He refused to look on the bright side of things – a Slayer on tap, the noble title the Powers had thrust upon him to mollify him for being stuck here, the camaraderie of his fellow family members, even if they were just minions kowtowing to his Master status, unlimited resources at his fingertips, the ability to travel wherever and whenever he wanted, loyal servants giving him the respect due him.

No, he refused to dwell on the positives.

Because then he might not have actually _minded_ being stuck. And that was what had him grabbing the first decanter he came across at the bar and swilling half the contents before he even made his way towards the desk.

He bloody well _refused_ to be happy. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Giles wasn’t surprised to see Angel, Xander, Willow, and Cordelia inside the library when he finally pushed his way through the double doors. Ethan had managed to vanish while he’d been distracted breaking the statue of Janus; after spending the last several hours combing the city, he’d given up and reluctantly returned to the library. 

“Where’s Buffy?” he asked, having immediately noticed his absentee slayer. The doors swished back and forth as he paused just inside and surveyed the motley crew. His question, however, was met with silence. 

His brows drew together, watching the four trade uneasy looks and carry on some unspoken conversation. Then he really looked at their expression – confusion, worry, a bit of fear. 

“What is it? What’s happened?” he demanded.

“We’re not sure, Giles,” Xander spoke up. “One minute we’re being held hostage by a bunch of mini-demons and Buffy’s being bitten by some bleached-blond vampire.” 

“Spike,” Angel added in a grumble under his breath. 

“Yeah… Well… the next thing we know, the demons are little kiddies again and crying for their mommy. And Buffy... Buffy is just… gone.” 

“Gone?” Giles parroted, not sure he’d understood Xander correctly. 

“Yes…” Xander confirmed. “Gone… as in vanished… disappeared... without a trace.” 

“He’s right.” Angel took over the retelling. “I went over every inch of that warehouse trying to find their scent. The trail led to where Spike had Buffy pinned up against a crate… and then… nothing. The scent just disappeared.” 

Giles took off his glasses and began rubbing them furiously with a handkerchief he pulled from his pants pocket. Normally, the gesture would have had Xander and Willow trying to hide their smiles. Right now, it only heightened their concern.

“She’s not dead, is she, Giles?” Willow ventured to ask in a small voice. 

“Well… ah… That is to say... there’s one way to find out.” 

The watcher crossed to the telephone nestled on the wall and picked up the handset, punching in several numbers by rote. It took a moment for the international call to connect, then Giles heard a pleasant voice answer. Since it was midnight in California, there would be someone in the office by now in London, even if it was a Saturday. 

“Hullo.” 

“Yes, this is… uhh... this is Rupert Giles. I need to speak with Mr. Travers at once.” 

“Mr. Travers has yet to step into the office, Mr. Giles.” 

“Well, put me through to his home extension. This is rather urgent.” 

“Yes, sir, one moment.” 

Giles listened to a series of clicks then a sleepy voice answered, “This better be important.” 

“Uh… Mr. Travers. Hello. It’s Rupert, Rupert Giles.” 

“Rupert, what can I do for you so bright and early on the one day of the year I should be able to sleep in?” It was customary for demons to take Halloween off, and the Watcher’s Council had come to appreciate the one morning that they were assured of no demon unrest in the world. It had become an unofficial holiday among the Council. 

“It’s Buffy… has another Slayer been called, by chance?” 

The urgent tone in Giles voice had the Head Watcher sitting upright in his bed. 

“What’s happened?” 

“Uh… we’re not quite sure, sir. She’s missing. I was trying to ascertain her condition in a rather… um, morbid way, I guess you could say. But I have my answer, I suppose. You would have been notified if another slayer had been called, and since you know nothing about a new one, I can only assume she’s just missing, not dead. I’m sorry to have bothered you, sir,” Giles rambled, leaving no room for the Head Councilman to get a word in edgewise. “We’ll… _I’ll_... figure it out on this end. Goodbye.”

~*~*~*~*~

Before Travers could mention Kendra, the slayer that had been called when Buffy had briefly “died” several months earlier at the hands of the Master, Giles had hung up the phone. He listened to the dial tone in his ear a few moments before leaning over and dialing Johnstone’s number. If the Hellmouth was currently unguarded, the best place Kendra could be was Sunnydale.

~*~*~*~*~

“Well, she’s obviously still alive,” Giles announced as he turned back to the group. Willow, Xander, and Cordelia were wearing identical expressions of shocked horror on their faces. Angel was just scowling. Perhaps he should have been more discreet with his phone conversation and made the call from his office, but he’d not been thinking clearly and needed some quick answers. Finding out if a new slayer had been called was the most surefire way to see if Buffy was actually still alive. 

“I’ll hit the streets; see if I can find out anything in the demon world. If Spike has the Slayer, news will travel fast there,” Angel announced abruptly and pushed his way to his feet. 

“Very good. Thank you, Angel,” Giles replied. Angel nodded and was gone, leaving the three students and the librarian alone in the room. 

“Xander? You, Willow, and Cordelia should go home now. It’s after midnight and your parents will be worried.” 

Cordelia rolled her eyes at that announcement. 

“That’s okay, Giles, we did the ‘round robin’.”

This from Willow. 

Seeing his confused expression, she elaborated, “You know, I tell my mom I’m staying at Buffy’s, Buffy tells her mom she’s staying at my house… round robin.” She shrugged as if to say, _‘didn’t everyone know?’_ Apparently not the older generation, which, now that she thought of it, was probably a good thing.

“Oh… I see… Nevertheless, there’s not much you three can do right now. So, off with you.” 

“I know I’m gonna shoot myself for saying this, but why don’t we go to my house?” Cordelia announced. “And if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll personally see to it that you both are marked as pariahs in school…. Oh wait… my bad. You already are.” 

“Don’t worry, Cordelia. Your secret is safe with us; isn’t it, Willow? We know you’re just scared to walk home alone,” Xander antagonized the cheerleader. 

“Pfft, whatever!” Cordelia rolled her eyes and marched off in a huff, the skintight cat suit accentuating every curve as she moved. 

Willow trailed after the beauty queen, with Xander bringing up the rear. 

Giles watched them leave before turning towards his office; he sat down behind his desk and couldn’t help the heavy sigh that escaped his lips. He sure hoped Angel would be able to find out something. He feared the worst for Buffy. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Elizabeth had spent the afternoon picking out bolts of material that would be made into various gowns she would be required to wear, not to mention the outerwear she would need for the cool November weather. William had said spare no expense, and he’d not been kidding. The seamstress and her assistants had appeared to have an unending supply of colors and textures of material to choose from, and Elizabeth had been thoroughly caught up in creating a brand new wardrobe. 

It was only once she’d finished and sent the seamstress on her way that she’d overheard talk that William was leaving for London for a few days; she couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that he was leaving so soon after their night together. True, he’d promised that he wouldn’t leave her and deep inside she believed him.

_‘Only for a few days,’_ she’d silently admonished. _‘He’s obviously a very important man.’_

When he had stormed into her room a little while later, she’d not been able to prevent the sudden thrill that had raced through her body. She wasn’t even conscious of his demon form until he’d cut her as his lips had claimed her own. His tongue had darted out to lick at the trail of blood, then she’d realized. And hadn’t cared one whit.

After last night, she had no willpower where he was concerned, and man or demon, he just seemed to excite her. 

Shameful, true, and she’d probably end up in hell over her sinful thoughts. But she just couldn’t seem to find it within herself to worry about it. 

After he had stormed out of her room, she’d collapsed back on the bed, dazed from his intense lovemaking. When her heart rate had returned to normal, she’d removed her gown and pulled on her nightgown before her maid could return. She wanted to be tucked in bed so as to avoid the prying eyes of her servant. She’d finally drifted off to sleep, only to dream about deep blue eyes that faded to amber. 

Now, alone in her room, Elizabeth’s cheeks pinkened in memory. She stretched, her hand seeking out the fresh set of marks on her neck. The result was instantaneous; the slight caress forced a shocked gasp from her lips at the tingling between her legs. Her eyes widened and, naughtily, she did it again. Her moan was choked off as her bedroom door opened to reveal her maid.

“Feel up to breakfast in the dining hall, m’lady?” the girl asked cheerfully, not realizing the state of her mistress.

“Yes,” Elizabeth managed to croak out, before clearing her throat delicately and adding, “I think I should. After spending all day yesterday tucked away in my room, I feel like exploring the grounds of my guardian.” 

“Very good, mistress. I’ll have a bath drawn for you.” 

Elizabeth nodded and made quick use of the chamber pot tucked behind the folding screen while her maid was away. The girl was back in a flash with several men carrying buckets of hot water and another two to bring in the tub. When they were gone, Elizabeth stripped and stepped from behind the screen to sink gratefully into the hot water. 

Her maid came over and lathered soap in her hair, giving it a thorough scrub before dumping a spare bucket of water over her head to rinse it through. She didn’t spend any longer in the tub than she had to, eager to explore her new surroundings now that William was away. 

She stepped out of the tub and allowed her maid to wrap a towel around her before moving to sit in front of the vanity. The girl began brushing her hair, helping it to dry, then pulled it into an artful style on top of her head. 

Elizabeth was thankful when the seamstress had brought a nearly completed day dress with her when she came yesterday. A tiny bit of alteration by her assistant afforded Elizabeth something to wear without looking like a street urchin until some of the dresses she’d ordered were completed. Although too informal for the evening meal, the gown was appropriate enough to spend her time surveying the place she’d call home until her family could be located. Besides, she could beg off from dining in the formal hall since her guardian was still in London, instead taking a tray in her room.

Maybe by tomorrow, the seamstress will have finished something more appropriate to wear to dinner and brought it by – William _was_ paying the woman an exorbitant amount of money to put a rush on the huge order – even if she would be dining alone. Alienating the staff by hiding in her room was not something she wanted to do; however, at the same time, she didn’t want to show how much of a pauper she had become either. She did have her pride, after all. 

She watched in the mirror at the soft lilac dress was settled around her frame and her maid set to tightening the stays. The dress was gorgeous and the simple style flattered her petite frame.

Elizabeth just wished William was around to see.


	9. Chapter 9

Spike finally managed to drink enough alcohol to pass out drunk at his desk, and a collective sigh seemed to escape the staff when the sounds abruptly ceased in the lord’s study.

He’d ranted and raved for several hours after Doyle’s departure – his study was testament to his rage. If he’d not been so bloody angry, Spike might have reveled in the fear of his butler when the man had opened the door to his study to inquire about the first of many crashes that had sounded throughout the morning hours. Instead, he’d flown across the room and slammed to door in the man’s face with explicit instructions to leave him the hell alone.

No one had disturbed him since. And he’d been quite vocal and destructive in his displeasure, too.

The irony of a vampire being dependent on a vampire slayer, and vice versa, had not been lost on him. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike awoke at dusk, barely four hours later, bleary-eyed and nursing one hell of a hangover – the likes of which not even his being a vampire could prevent entirely. Cursing himself for sleeping in a stiff chair when he could have been stretched out in comfort on a nice bed, Spike rose carefully to his feet. Hands gripped the edge of his desk when he threatened to topple over.

Not for the first time, he mentally berated himself for drinking to such an excess. It had never solved anything in the past, and as usual, he felt even worse than when he’d started to drink. 

While waiting for the vertigo to pass, he happened to glance down at his slovenly attire – shirt untucked, torn jacket and breeches; he’d lost a shoe somewhere too. He began to chuckle at the fuss his valet would likely make over the state of his dress, before the action proved too much for his throbbing head – effectively killing his mirth.

Man, his head hurt. His body didn’t feel particularly good either.

Spike managed to cover the distance of his study and fiddled with the door; his coordination was still shot and it took a moment before he was able to open it. A hot bath, some blood and a fresh set of clothes were called for. Preferably in that order.

If he guessed correctly, he’d be receiving a visitor shortly. One Mrs. Rothworth, the matronly vampiress. And receiving her like he was some hung over fledge wasn’t what he had in mind.

Upon entering the master suite, Spike noticed a man standing next to a wardrobe.

“Travis?” 

“Yes, m’lord,” the man answered as he turned around. 

“Wait, you’re not Travis…” 

Spike was confused. They looked the same; although, his vision wasn’t the best at the moment. He squinted, not that it really helped, and was able to discern slight differences between this man and the other one. This Travis was slightly older, a bit of grey present in his dark hair. Brothers, he deduced. 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Right. Sorry ‘bout that, had a little too much to drink, not quite right in the head at the moment.” 

“Of course, m’lord. Your plans for this evening? Should I set out formal attire?”

He quirked a brow at the man’s subservient tone, how not one whit of disapproval over his tantrum earlier was evident on his features. _‘I could get used to this,’_ he thought as Travis stepped forward to help him remove his clothes. Human servants were _much_ better than minions. Blind obedience. Humans had it; minions had to be made to realize it. 

“Hmmm…” he began, waving off the servant. He could undress himself. And he did so as water was brought in by a handful of lesser servants and dumped into the tub situated near the fire. “No, I’m expecting a caller this evening. A Mrs. Rothworth. I’ll be leaving for Arundel Manor directly afterwards.” 

“Very good, m’lord.”

Travis left to get his master some blood, ushering the other servants out of the room before him. He returned minutes later with a large decanter and goblet, pouring a generous helping before setting the leftovers on a short table within easy reach.

~*~*~*~*~

Dressed and feeling much like his former self, Spike stepped back inside his study, already dreading the mess he would encounter.

His jaw dropped before he quickly recovered himself and schooled his features into a line of bored indifference.

The room had been put to rights in his absence; everything that was broken had been removed, his papers neatly stacked. The post had come and sat in a huge stack to one side. With nothing better to do until Mrs. Rothworth arrived, he seated himself behind his desk and played at being an earl. The majority of letters turned out to be invitations. News of his return had apparently spread like wildfire amongst the Ton.

His lip curled in disgust. So much for hiding out in the country until the Powers fixed what they needed. Not with the title they’d chosen to thrust upon him.

There was no help for it; he was going to have to return to London and open up the townhouse. He figured he had a week, two tops, before his absence was noted and he was sought out at Arundel Manor. Nobility did _not_ miss the Season unless abroad. He scanned the pile of invitations, setting aside the ones he’d have his solicitor confirm attendance – mainly those from persons ranking higher in title than he. The others could wait – indefinitely for all he cared. That finished, he turned his attention to what was left on his desk. 

An hour later, Spike lifted his head at the soft knock on the door. 

“A Mrs. Rothworth to see you, m’lord,” the butler announced as he let himself in to the study. “I’ve had her placed in the drawing room.”

“I’ll be there directly.” 

Spike finished the detailed instructions for his solicitor of the things he wanted accomplished while he was away, not entirely confident the man would be able to see things done in his absence. He added a second note, informing of his return in two weeks’ time and for the solicitor to present himself at his earliest convenience. Everything was placed in an envelope and sealed with his stamp to be delivered tomorrow.

Spike wanted to take the man’s measure in person to see if he’d be able to fill the role. If not, he’d ask around, see who the other nobles used.

He wasn’t really sure why he bothered; it wasn’t like he really _had_ to do anything while he was here. He put it down to boredom, and figured filling the shoes of an earl would be entertaining, if nothing else. 

That settled, he stood and made his way towards the vampiress that would be his slayer’s new chaperone. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

_‘Young,’_ was the first thought that came to mind as he stepped into the room. She couldn’t have been more than a few decades, though she looked matronly enough, having been turned in her later years. 

Sensing his presence, the older woman stood, dropping into a slight curtsy as he drew near. 

“Lord Arundel,” the vampiress greeted. 

“Mrs. Rothworth.” 

“I understand you have need of a chaperone.” 

“Yes. Lady Summers, my ward. She’s at Arundel Manor as yet, but we’ll be returning presently to London for the season. Obligations, and such.” 

“Of course,” she murmured. 

“I’m returning there this evening. You can follow at a more leisurely pace in my carriage. But, I’ll expect you no later than tomorrow evening. We’ve a lot to accomplish in the next fortnight. Will this be a problem?” 

“No, m’lord,” she hurried to assure him. “I’ll make arrangements with my staff to be ready to leave at dusk tomorrow evening and should arrive at Arundel Manor later that night.” 

“Very good. I’ll leave you to it then. I must be off.” 

With another quick curtsy, Mrs. Rothworth left. Spike watched her exit the room and followed in her footsteps shortly thereafter, stopping along the way to find his butler. He needed to let the man know of his plans, and that he was returning in two weeks for the season. 

Before doing this, however, Spike went to his valet and quizzed him on which members of his London staff were aware that their master was a vampire. 

“Just myself, m’lord. Usually, the cook and housekeeper follow where you go. But if you’re coming back to London for the season, Mrs. Cremshaw will probably leave beforehand to make sure everything is ready for your return.” 

“And the butler?” 

“Stevens, m’lord?” 

“Yes, Stevens. He’s… he doesn’t know?” 

“No, m’lord. Helps maintain the image? Most ‘family’ functions are conducted in the country. Safer that way, I s’pose.”

“Hmmm… very good. I’ll be returning in a fortnight for the Duke of Sevring’s ball. Make sure I’ve got something to wear. Oh, and in black. None of those poncy colors that seem to be the rage of late.” 

Spike left his valet and found Stevens, quickly explaining what he wanted done in his absence and letting the man know that his housekeeper would probably be descending on the townhouse in the next few days. The butler assured him all would be as he demanded, leaving Spike with nothing to do but return to Arundel Manor. And the Slayer. Though he buried that particular thought.

The city was beginning to come to life as he stepped out the front door into the darkened sky. He could feel the stares and practically hear their speculations he strode purposefully down his walk towards his waiting carriage. He smiled at seeing the roan stallion tied to the back, how he stomped his foot impatiently. It had been awhile since he’d ridden, before he’d been turned actually. He’d always enjoyed the freedom, the feeling of power he felt, racing headlong into the wind. The only thing keeping him upright, his particular skill with handling the horse beneath him. In that moment, he’d been someone other than William the Bloody Awful Poet. 

The driver came down from his perch as he noticed his master making his way down the walk. 

“Good evening, m’lord.” 

Spike untied the stallion and gained his seat, ignoring his mount’s eagerness to be off. A few quick hand movements and a slight pressure of his knees quickly cooled the horse’s budding tantrum. Patting his neck reassuringly, he spoke to the driver. 

“I won’t need the carriage this evening. Drive round to Mrs. Rothworth’s residence. You’re to bring her to Arundel Manor when she is ready.” 

“Yes, m’lord. Right away.” The driver affected a quick bow and returned to his seat, clicking the reins to get the horses moving. 

Spike spun the stallion around and let him have his head, racing off into the night. He kept his eyes peeled on the road, using his preternatural senses to carefully guide the horse around the holes that occasionally dotted the surface. Riding was just like he’d remembered. The feeling of power, how he was master of his own fate. His laughter echoed in the darkness as the horse raced along.

It was a while before his mount’s restless energy subsided and he settled into a more sedate canter for the remainder of the journey. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike left the stallion with a bleary-eyed stable boy, who assured him the horse would be well cared for. He watched a moment as the boy lead the horse almost twice his size away to cool him out. Whispered praise for the horse’s stamina and such drifted back to him and Spike finally turned away, eager to get off his feet. Relax in his study with a stiff drink and maybe a book for company. 

The book was to keep him busy. To keep him from going to _her_. He needed to prove to himself that he didn’t have to touch her. That he could resist her. She was his, but that didn’t make her special. She was just a means to an end, or so he told himself. Repeatedly.

Now reclined in his chair, a book open and a glass of blood in his hand, Spike sipped idly as he leafed through the pages. He congratulated himself on his fortitude. At least he would have, if he’d actually been concentrating on the book, instead of her. No, it was the Slayer that was uppermost in his mind. Her blood and the taste of it as it cascaded down his throat. Her body squeezing him tight as he thrust repeatedly into her warmth. The noises she made when she came. 

At first, he thought the heartbeat resounding in his ear was his imagination, a lingering memory flashing in his consciousness. Then the door to his study cracked open, and she stood shyly before him. Her white nightgown covered her completely, but the thin gossamer left nothing to his imagination. Her fingers were playing over his mark as she eyed him uncertainly. 

“Come in, pet. Shut the door,” he called out just loud enough for her to hear. 

Elizabeth did as he requested, a relieved smile on her face at his invitation. Her bare feet hurried across the room as she made her way towards him. 

Spike pushed back from the desk; the book fell from his lap with a soft thud, unnoticed. He held his arms wide, indicating she should sit on his lap. Refusing to bask in her spontaneous smile before she did just that. She was a wily one, however. Curling into his body, her cheek nuzzling his chest.

Spike was helpless but to wrap his arms around her and hold her close. 

“I just woke up, and I could feel you,” she whispered. One of her hands continued to rub the scar permanently etched upon her skin, as if trying to ease the tingling it was causing. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, love. Didn’t realize I was calling you until you were standing here.” 

“Did you get all of your business taken care of? Is that why you’re back so soon?” She really didn’t care why he was back, just that he was. And that he was holding her tightly against him. It made her feel cherished. Special. 

“Hmmm… what’s that, pet?” 

“Your business in London…” 

“Ahhh, yes. Well, I suppose so. Some of it anyway. I’ll be returning in a fortnight for the season; I can’t get away with rusticating in the country.” 

Elizabeth ignored the feeling that his next absence would cause and bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out her distress. Instead, she sat quietly in his lap like a small child in need of comfort.

Only, she _wasn’t_ a child and he was far from a father figure, even if he was her guardian. 

“I’ll miss you.” 

The whispered words shocked both of them but for different reasons. 

“Oh, love, no need to miss me. You’ll be coming too, or did you think I’d let you wallow here all alone? I went to London to see about finding a suitable chaperone for you.” 

_‘Now where had that come from?’_ Spike thought. Reassuring the chit? He’d obviously lost his mind, if not his bollocks.

“Really?” she asked, lifting her head from where it lay nestled against his shoulder so that she could look up at him, see the truth of his words. 

“Yes, really.” 

In her excitement of being allowed to go with him back to London, Elizabeth laced her arms around his neck and gave him an exuberant hug. Then went one step further and pressed her lips to his. 

Spike’s eyes darkened at the Slayer’s unexpected display of affection. His vow to go the day without seeking her out flew right out the window. He didn’t even bother to rationalize that she was the one that sought him out, knowing that he’d only be lying to himself – that was something he refused to do.

He had her turned and straddling his waist, her nightgown pooled up around her hips, before she knew what was happening. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss much less chaste than hers had been. His tongue demanded – and received – entrance to her mouth. Tasting her with bold strokes, coaxing a response out of her. She caught on quick enough, kissing him back with fervor until she was forced to draw back and catch a breath.

While she sat panting above him, Spike gripped her ass and drew her flush against his cock. His eyes glittered as he watched her head fall back, her long, dark hair spilling over his arms.

“Like that, do you, pet?” He teased her clit with his thumb, slow measured circles to drive her insane. “Or do you want something more?” He shoved two fingers inside her pussy.

Her moan was music to his ears. Her wetness damn near singed his fingers. Her scent made his mouth water. He didn’t know whether to fuck her or suck her.

His dick answered that question for him, throbbing with need to be inside her. And now.

It was awkward, fumbling with the fastenings of his breeches with the Slayer sitting atop him, but somehow he managed it. Then he was guiding her down onto his cock.

Muscles stretched to accommodate him. Moist heat enveloped him, and Spike couldn’t prevent his own moan of pleasure. Her pussy was pure slayer, gripping him with all the strength she seemed to possess.

Elizabeth sighed happily as William slid in as far as he could go. She rested her head on his shoulder, content to just lay there and bask in the feeling of fullness. William, however, apparently had other ideas. She felt his hands on her hips, urging her to move.

She really should have been shocked, given their wanton position.

“Like riding a horse,” Spike murmured, showing her. Nice and slow, like he had all the time in the world.

Riding a horse had _never_ felt like this, Elizabeth couldn’t help but think, sure her face was now beet red with embarrassment. What they were doing was so much better. Still, she followed his lead. Up and down, over and over, until he’d apparently had enough with their leisurely pace and took matters into his own hands.

His grip tightened, then he was moving faster. Harder. Elizabeth’s eyes widened as her body was maneuvered and the angle of his thrusts changed. Her hands sought purchase where they could as she bounced in William’s lap.

Apparently that wasn’t enough either.

Things went flying off his desk when William stood abruptly and laid her back across the surface. She watched, transfixed, as ridges appeared on his brow and blue eyes were eclipsed by gold. He snarled as he continued to pound into her, revealing sharpened fangs.

She wasn’t worried though.

In actuality, she reveled in his demon, knowing that seeing it was proof of his need for her. His desire.

Elizabeth didn’t need his help to bare her throat to him. She wanted it. Wanted his bite. Knowing full well what it would do. How it would make her feel.

Spike saw the Slayer’s willing supplication and lost it.

_Mine, mine, mine_ , his mind chanted as he sank his fangs into her neck. Nostrils flaring at her instant release. A noise, somewhere between a moan and a purr, was muffled against her flesh as he drank her blood and felt her muscles contract around him. The demon content now that he’d restated his claim with cock and fangs. Stamping his ownership of the girl upon her body once again.

“Mine,” he declared in a low growl, having torn his mouth away from her throat. “Mine.”

He came to the sound of her easy agreement.

“Yes... yours. Always yours...”


	10. Chapter 10

Elizabeth was pulled from a deep sleep as the raspy tongue of her lover slowly inched its way up her calf, around her knee, and then along her inner thigh. When it reached the curls covering her sex, she forgot to breathe.

“Spike,” she fluttered, dazed by the sensations his tongue was creating.

Spike paused mid-stroke, surprised at the name she had whispered – although it wasn’t the first time it had happened.

Elizabeth didn’t hesitate to reach down and grab his head, her fingers knotting in his hair as she urged him to move again. Over the past several hours, she had – at some point – lost all of her maidenly inhibitions. William had made sure of it, withholding his affections until she was practically begging… no make that _actually_ begging him to please her. And he had.

Over and over, he had brought her body to the brink of pleasure before throwing her headlong off the cliff into orgasm. Each time he seemed to go slower, his hands and mouth working over her as if seeing how much pleasure-filled torture her body would take. There was something about the way he made her practically cling to him as she found her own release, before taking his own pleasure that seemed strange. Almost as if he wouldn’t allow himself his own gratification until he was assured she was undone by the ecstasy he had created.

Only once her body had convulsed around his did he allow himself free reign, sometimes pounding into her body with a ruthlessness that thrilled her as much as it unnerved her. Other times, like now, he took her with a gentleness that brought tears to her eyes, his body slowly rocking in and out of hers as the slow deep thrusts swept her away on a tidal wave of feeling.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered entreatingly, not understanding why he had paused in the first place.

“Never, pet,” he murmured as he withdrew his tongue to lave at her swollen nub.

Then he was sliding up over her body, into her waiting arms, once more taking them both to paradise.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike left the Slayer’s bed sometime before dawn to return to his own room. His demon rebelled at the thought of leaving her side; however, appearances had to be maintained. But, damn, he was so close to saying bugger it all and dragging her into his bed so that he could get some sleep.

He’d gotten used to her body’s heat, the warmth projecting onto his cool skin lulling him to sleep. Not that he’d ever known what sleeping next to a warm body felt like, he bloody well hadn’t done that when he’d been human. After he’d been turned, the only one he had actually physically slept with had been Drusilla. Unfortunately, she had the same lack of temperature he had. 

Disgusted with himself at his need for the Slayer, he strode quickly from the room, determined – once again – to put the girl far from his mind.

~*~*~*~*~

Elizabeth was surprised upon waking to see the sun shining brightly in her room. She sat up abruptly, wondering if her maid had given up on waking her. She vaguely recalled hearing a soft voice calling her name before another, older voice had shushed the first one away.

She reached over and yanked the bell pull to ring for her servant. A few minutes later, her maid appeared.

“You’re up, I see. I would have woken you earlier, but that harridan of a housekeeper shooed me away, she did.”

“It’s fine, Heather. I must have been rather tired to sleep so late. Find something for me to wear, would you? Oh, and is Lord Arundel about?”

“I believe he’s in his study, miss.”

Elizabeth nodded and sank back on her pillows as she waited for her maid to find her suitable clothing.

Once properly attired, Elizabeth descended the stairs to make her way towards the dining room. She paused for a moment before the closed door of the study, her hand instinctively finding his mark upon her neck. Not wanting to be caught gazing off into space, she continued on her way.

In the dining room, she took a seat near the head of the table just as a servant appeared with a plate of food. Hating to eat alone, but resigning herself to it, she was just about to put a forkful of food in her mouth when she heard footsteps echoing down the long hallway. She paused, dropping her fork back to her plate, and looked up to see William leaning against the wall, his blue gaze raking over her form.

“Did you not want to eat with me, Elizabeth?”

“I…uh…” she began as she rose gracefully to her feet. Behind her, she heard the servant move to set a place for him. 

“I didn’t think you would be joining me, or I would have waited,” she stammered out, her head bowed in embarrassment at having to explain herself with a servant present.

Spike pushed himself away from the wall and walked towards her, pausing by her side. He cupped her chin and raised her head to meet his gaze.

“I was just teasing, pet. Hasn’t anyone ever teased you before?”

A relieved smile graced her features as she assured him that no, she hadn’t ever been teased. Her parents were very prim and proper, and being an only child in the country where her family was the only landed gentry did not allow for interaction with other children.

“Well, we’ll have to work on that part of your education then, won’t we?”

Elizabeth nodded into his palm, the contact of his hand sliding back and forth along her jaw causing goose bumps to break out along her flesh. He pulled his hand away, and she immediately felt the loss of contact. Moving behind her, he assisted her back into her seat before taking the few steps necessary to reach the head of the table.

Together, the two ate in companionable silence. By some unspoken understanding, they hurried through the meal as fast as they could without drawing notice from the servant that lingered in the room to see to their needs. Both wanted to be away from the watchful eyes of William’s servants.

They didn’t bother with dessert, much to the dismay of the cook, who felt that her cooking suddenly wasn’t up to snuff. When she came out of her hallowed kitchens to ask if everything was alright, she noticed the look Lord William was giving his ward and quickly concluded their haste had nothing to do with her cooking. With a smile on her face, she returned to her domain to see about plans for the evening meal – Lady Elizabeth’s chaperone was arriving shortly and everything needed to be just so.

~*~*~*~*~

No sooner had Spike shut the door to his study, shielding them from the prying eyes of his servants, than he was on her. She’d driven him crazy, sitting there eating oh so daintily while every so often casting shy glances beneath lowered lashes his way. Her body told another story – he could hear her heart racing even as she sat there looking innocent and pure. His demon had practically begged him to take her right there on the dining room table and to hell with the servants milling about.

He spun her around, shoving her back against the bookcase lining one wall. He gave her a quick, hard kiss that left her leaning heavily against the shelf for support, her knees suddenly weak. It was over before she had a chance to adjust to the onslaught then Spike dropped to his knees, quickly raising her voluminous skirts out of his way as he zeroed in on her sex.

Breathing deeply, he inhaled the scent that was distinctly Slayer. He could smell his own scent on her as well and licked his lips in anticipation of the bounty he was about to taste. Then, he buried his nose in her curls as his tongue slipped out to lick the dampness seeping out of her core. Spike felt her knees buckle and used his hands to hold her steady as his tongue darted in and out her glistening folds.

Minutes later he felt the beginning of her orgasm, felt her legs start to shake right before her body bucked against his mouth. She bit down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming her release, her hands fisting in his hair, holding his head in place against her.

When the last shudder finally died away, leaving behind a thoroughly sated – yet completely limp – Slayer, Spike stood and swept her up in his arm. He crossed the room and gently laid her on the chaise lounge.

Falling to his knees yet again, Spike grabbed her legs and pulled her towards him so that her hips nearly hung over the edge. He lifted her skirts, exposing her womanly curls to his gaze. His fingers hurriedly undid the fastenings of his trousers, allowing his erection to spring free. A quick thrust of his pelvis, and he was buried deep inside her velvety warmth.

Her legs came up around his hips of their own volition, and he couldn’t help the low moan that escaped his lips as his cock was able to delve that much deeper. He began to move, pulling himself almost all the way out before thrusting himself back into her depths with a hard, deep lunge. In and out, he repeated the motion, the head of his cock teasing her sweet spot.

His human mask slid away at some point and he watched with demon eyes as her head thrashed back and forth from side to side; the pins holding her hair up came loose, allowing it to tumble from the top of her head and fan out along the seat of the chaise behind her. She couldn’t reach him to hold him to her, not that he wanted her to, preferring to watch her expressive face as he slammed into her body over and over. It got his demon off, seeing how much she enjoyed what he did to her, how he made her feel.

Her head arched back, exposing the graceful lines of her neck when her climax swept through her body causing Spike to grunt, his cock seized by the rhythmic clenching of her pussy. With the Slayer having reached her second orgasm, he finally gave himself over to the demands of his body. His hands tightened on her hips, lifting her ass off the cushion and into each thrust. Goaded by her soft whimpers, barely contained from where she bit her bottom lip, Spike allowed his demon free rein. Though she thought herself a dainty miss, the girl was still the Slayer, and she was more than capable of taking everything he gave her.

And she did, whispering his name as he fucked her harder and harder.

His orgasm took him by surprise; one minute slamming into her, threatening to send the chaise skittering across the wooden floor, the next his body arched, frozen for a moment... then he was moving again, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside her. Jaw clenched tight to stifle the heady roar on the tip of his tongue.

Completely sated, he loosened his hold about her hips and let her fall back against the cushion, following her down and laying his head on her chest. Reveling in the feel of her arms as they slid around his back and held him close. The rumbling in his chest took him completely by surprise, and damned if his demon wasn’t happy right where he was, nestled within the arms of the Slayer. Already thinking of ways he could keep her once they were returned to their own time.

Ignoring the possessiveness of that thought, he lay there for a few minutes before finally pulling out of her warm body and refastening his trousers. He pulled her skirts down over her legs and stood so that he could settle her more comfortably on the chaise, smiling indulgently as she drifted off into sleep, lulled by the soft rumbling still emanating from his chest.

Spike stood there for the longest time, long after his damn purr-like reflex had stopped, watching as she napped peacefully on the chaise. Her smile of contentment brought about one of his own. The grandfather clock announcing the top of the hour forced him from his silent contemplation and he turned away to settle behind his desk and the stacks of papers littering the surface. He had a lot of loose ends that needed to be tied up here before he could leave for London in two weeks’ time. Listening to the steady sounds of the Slayer’s deep breathing and slow, steady heartbeat, he immersed himself in paperwork until shortly before it was time for the Slayer’s chaperone to arrive.

~*~*~*~*~

As he felt the impending sunset, Spike stood and walked over to the still-sleeping Slayer. He knelt beside her, trailing his hand along her jaw and smoothing the hair off her face. Even in sleep she yearned for his touch, leaning into his hand as he stroked his fingertips along her cheek.

“Pet? It’s time to wake up. Your chaperone is going to be here shortly, and I’m sure you want to get freshened up and changed for dinner,” he called out softly.

“Hmmmm…” she mumbled as she struggled to consciousness.

“Chaperone…? She’s going to be here soon,” he repeated.

As the words penetrated the fog that had settled around her brain, Elizabeth sat up abruptly, the top of her head almost colliding with William’s chin.

“Oh… oh… I’ve got to go. I look a mess! I can’t believe you let me sleep so long. I’m never going to hear the end of it if I’m caught looking such a fright,” she wailed.

“Not if I have a bloody thing to say about it,” he muttered under his breath.

She gave him a sharp look, not necessarily understanding his words, but knowing instinctively that they wouldn’t help her cause.

Spike assisted her to her feet, leading her to the door of his study.

“Take your time, I’m sure you’ve got a while yet before she shows. We’ll hold dinner until you’re presentable,” he smirked. 

“Oooohhhh… you!” Elizabeth flounced out of the room and, making sure no servants were about, lifted her skirts almost scandalously to her knees and rushed down the hall and up the stairs.

Spike watched her go, a reluctant smile playing about his lips.

She was cute when she was riled.


	11. Chapter 11

Elizabeth had never dressed so fast in her life. William had helped a little, having buckets of warm water brought up almost as soon as she’d reached her room. There was no way she was meeting her chaperone without having a thorough bathing – as it was, she was going to be blushing uncontrollably because of all the wicked things she had been doing without the presence of the elderly matron. 

She sighed wistfully as she sank naked beneath the heated water. No more lovemaking, no more cuddling, no more being alone in the same room for that matter. She’d probably miss that most of all; she’d come to enjoy their time alone together, even though the total time they’d spent doing absolutely nothing could be counted on one hand. But still. The strictures of society were bearing their full weight down around her shoulders and a small part of her just wanted to rebel. Say to hell with what society thought. 

She belonged to William, and secretly she believed that he belonged to her.

~*~*~*~*~ 

Mrs. Rothworth swept into the drawing room, carrying herself like the aged duenna she was. For the benefit of the servants, she hemmed and hawed over the unsuitableness of her charge staying secluded until even Spike had to raise a scarred eyebrow at her. She just winked back at him, mindful of the servants loitering about as they waited for just the slightest hint of a request from their lord, and continued her tirade. 

Finally, she winded down, and seated herself with aplomb as she waited for her charge to appear. 

“Can I get you a drink while you wait, madam?” 

“Heavens no, don’t touch the stuff… hardly proper being as I am now responsible for the lady… must stay on my toes, and such.” 

Spike smirked back, knowing that she was dying for a drink. Maybe later, when the three of them retired to his study to discuss their plans of returning to the city for the season. The two talked about mundane topics, Spike slipping easily into the role of the bored nobleman as they waited for the Slayer to make an appearance.

He was slightly nervous. True, the Slayer had no idea who, exactly, she was at the moment. He just hoped that loss of recognition went a long way towards concealing her identity from the other vampire, at least for now. He really didn’t want to have to see about finding another chaperone this late in the day, and he didn’t want the “family” getting their knickers in a twist because he had to defend his “ward” from the elderly matron. Although, his claim on her would prevent the other vampire from actually doing the girl any harm.

Still, it would just be easier all around. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Elizabeth dressed in the gown her maid had laid out upon the bed. Now that they had company, she was sure they would have a formal dinner in the dining room. The soft pink color did much to confirm her ward status, but that was about it. The gown itself was a dream, and if the dressmaker hadn’t assured her that it looked stunning, Elizabeth would have refused to wear it. 

The dress was the first of its kind. Rather than the full voluminous skirts that seemed to be all the rage and would most assuredly swallow her petite frame whole, the dress was simplicity itself. Made of long sleeves, the dress was fitted under her breast, then fell in a straight line to the floor. The plunging neckline made her blush, and she wished, yet again, that she had a handkerchief of some sort to cover up her exposed bosom. The cut of the dress practically showed her nipples! 

With her hair twisted up on top of her head, a few wisps allowed to dangle and frame her face, Elizabeth left her room to the exclamations of her servant ringing in her ear. She was nervous, eager to make a good impression – and a small part of her hoped that William would like her gown. He’d yet to really see her in anything this formal. She paused at the top of the stairs to take a steadying breath, and hopefully slow her racing heart, before gliding down the staircase. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike felt the Slayer nearing the door, and he glanced up sharply to see if Mrs. Rothworth sensed that one was in the vicinity. Either she was a very good actor – which he doubted given her age – or she had no clue that their enemy was just about to step into their midst. 

The door opened to reveal the butler as he announced his ward. 

Spike stepped away from where he leaned against the wall, idly sipping from the tumbler held casually in his hand. Mrs. Rothworth rose from the couch and turned towards the door. 

Elizabeth glided into the room, stopping just inside the door. She was nervous, no doubt about it, and her hand slipped unselfconsciously to the marks on her neck, as if rubbing them would soothe the butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach. The action was telling, to both vampires. 

Spike discarded his glass on a table as he stepped forward, towards the Slayer; his legs quickly ate up the distance that separated them. He watched as she sunk into a formal curtsy as he neared, and he ground his teeth in frustration as the tight bodice squeezed her chest even tighter so that the gown almost spilled their precious bounty to his gaze. He wanted nothing more than to rip the garment from her body and ravage her right there and to hell with who may be watching. 

Instead, he reached out his hand and helped her to stand. His eyes bore into hers, his heated gaze causing her to blush at the promise they held. 

Behind them, Mrs. Rothworth discreetly cleared her throat. She could smell the arousal coming in waves off the two, and she clenched her legs together to prevent her own answering arousal from reaching the other vampire’s nose. She’d have to see about finding herself a plaything if she was going to be in the constant vicinity of these two as the sexual tension was enough to drive a vampire crazy. 

Spike turned and affected the manners of a gracious host. 

“Mrs. Rothworth, may I present my ward, Lady Elizabeth Summers. Elizabeth is a guest in my home while her parents are out of the country.” 

“Hmmm… yes, Lady Summers… a pleasure, my dear.” Literally, she might add. Lord Arundel sure knew how to pick them. If the master vampire hadn’t gotten to her first, she’d be half tempted to keep the girl for herself. But she liked her head just where it was, so she contented herself to the role of chaperone. 

Elizabeth greeted the older woman, her hand returning to the scar on her neck – only this time to hide it. 

Mrs. Rothworth smiled indulgently before responding. 

“Don’t worry about your marks, Elizabeth. For those of us that need to, we understand exactly what they are. They’re something that should be worn with pride. You bear the markings of a master, my dear.” 

Then she leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “And a handsome one at that.” 

“Erm, thank you,” she replied, gifting the woman with a shy smile even as her face flamed red at the implied words. “So, that means you’re like him?” 

“Yes,” she responded, not saying anything more. The young girl would learn about them in time, especially if she was going to be attending all the functions put on by the ton. 

Mrs. Rothworth smiled wide as she led the younger woman back towards the couch so the two could talk – steering the conversation towards other mundane subjects. Spike moved to retrieve his glass as he retreated to his position against the wall. Assured that the Slayer was relaxing in the other woman’s company as the two talked and planned, he allowed his mind to wander and continued to sip idly at his drink. 

Before long, dinner was announced and the trio made their way to the dining room. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Conversation was stilted at first – the formal setting slightly intimidating Elizabeth – until the older woman mentioned all the parties, soirees, and theater events they would be attending. Soon the talk became much more animated between the two women, and they began speaking like old friends instead of in the proper manner normally reserved for their separate stations. 

“Lord Arundel, you mentioned that the Duke of Sevring’s ball would be the first social engagement you plan on attending with your ward,” Mrs. Rothworth commented, trying to draw the male vampire into the conversation. 

“Yes, and I’m only attending that because I’ve obligated myself,” Spike grumbled. 

“I assume you’ll have some informal gathering beforehand at your residence to introduce Elizabeth to a few people…” 

“I hadn’t thought about that, but if you feel it’s necessary…” 

“Most assuredly. Just a few select families, of course. Maybe an afternoon tea with the ladies, a small dinner party. When were we going to be returning to London?” 

“I had planned on staying here until the last moment…” he started. 

“Oh, no, we can’t do that! We’ve got so much to accomplish before then. I’d say a day, two at the most, can be spent here, then we must return to London to prepare.” 

“Bloody hell,” he muttered to no one in particular. 

“ _Two days_?” Elizabeth squeaked. “But it’ll take that long just to get all my stuff packed!” 

“Well, I guess we’re just going to have to hurry, then, won’t we. She does have something suitable to wear to the Duke’s ball?” The question was directed at Spike. 

“Uhh…” He turned towards the Slayer. She nodded back at him. “Er, right… that’s all taken care of.” 

“But,” Elizabeth began, “The seamstress hasn’t finished everything as yet. Just a few things here and there.” 

“That will be no trouble. We’ll instruct her to forward everything to the London address. In the meantime, we can get a few things made for you there as well.” 

“Oh but, surely I can’t! Lord Arundel has already spent way too much as it is…” her voice trailed off weakly. 

Mrs. Rothworth just pinned her with a look that said not to object now that she was on a roll. Elizabeth sighed and nodded. Spike had to agree with the Slayer; the elder woman was a freight train and it was just better to get on than stand in front of it. Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have the money to spare. And if more of the dresses were in the style she currently sported, he’d be one happy vamp. 

He zoned out to thoughts of peeling the delectable garment off the Slayer’s body as the older woman continued her monologue about everything that needed to be accomplished in the two short weeks they had. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike was all for adjourning to his study to spend some quiet time, but one look at Mrs. Rothworth quickly changed his mind. Apparently, she had a lot to get accomplished in the next few days and wanted to get started right now, and she quickly dragged Elizabeth off to the younger woman’s room. 

Annoyed, Spike stalked off to his study, missing the parting glance the Slayer shot over her shoulders as she was led away. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

After several more hours spent plotting with her chaperone – Elizabeth was quickly adapting to being up at all hours of the night and spending the good portion of her morning asleep in bed – she finally had her room to herself. She’d just rung for her servant to help her undress. A few moments later, there was a knock at her door before Heather stepped inside. 

“Help me out of this, would you, Heather?” she asked the young girl, presenting her back to the girl. 

Just as the girl started across the room, Elizabeth gasped as she felt the intense tingling radiate out from the marks on her neck. The heat that enveloped her body nearly brought her to her knees. 

Twirling around, she stammered out, “Never mind. I… I just forgot something… in… in Mrs. Rothworth’s room. You… uh… go on to bed, I’ll get her to help me when I’m through.” 

The girl shrugged and left the room. Elizabeth rushed after her, locking the door behind the girl just as the connecting door opened. She leaned against the door for a moment, grateful that she’d managed to get the girl out of there before her knees buckled from the desire snaking its way through her body. 

Then he was there, leaning up against her back as she braced herself against the door. She moaned softly as he inhaled her scent before he lightly nibbled along the exposed length of her neck. 

“You know what I wanted to do the moment I saw you in this dress, pet?” he whispered in her ear before tugging the lobe into his mouth. 

She shook her head slightly, unable to say anything – the feel of his cool mouth on her overheated skin had the blood rushing in her veins. 

“I wanted to rip it right off your delectable little body, shove you up against the wall, and fuck you until neither one of us could stand the pleasure anymore,” he growled. “I still do.” 

Elizabeth whimpered. She felt him undo the stays holding her gown in place and silently urged him to hurry. 

“Do you want it, Slayer? Do you want me to rip this gown off your body and take you up against the wall… fuck you till we want to die from the pleasure of it all?” 

He knew her body wanted it, could smell her arousal as it pooled between her legs, but he wanted to hear her say the words. He continued to undo the stays on her gown until the last one was undone. Until it slowly slid down her body to land in a heap at her feet. 

He ground his erection into her back, showing her that he was more than willing to take her to paradise. Leaning in towards her neck, he ran his fangs back and forth along the artery beating wildly beneath the skin, pausing momentarily to nick her flesh.

She hissed as she felt the skin separate, not from pain, but in anticipation of him wrapping his lips around it and sucking at the slight cut he’d made. It did strange things, him sipping from her body. Almost as if the spot was linked directly to her womb. 

“Do you?” he asked again, his lips hovering over the cut. His fingers went to work on her corset and undergarments until she stood before him in all her naked glory. The scent of her blood washed over him as he’d left it to pool on her shoulder. 

Elizabeth stood, still facing the door, her hands against the hard wood as if it would help support her. The cool air washed over her bare, fevered skin, but it did nothing to relieve the tension coiling through her body. Only he could. The man who stood behind her waiting for an answer to his question. She wished he’d just take her, ease the ache he had built within her body. 

Instead, she barely felt his lips as they ghosted over her bare skin, promising delights, but withholding the pleasure of his touch until she responded. Unable to bear it any more, she finally answered him. 

“Yes,” she whispered, hanging her head as she waited for him to finally touch her.


	12. Chapter 12

Elizabeth groaned deep into the coverlets as she slowly came awake. Her hand reached out beside her, hoping to encounter the bare skin of her lover, but found nothing but cool sheets. Mouth forming a slight pout that she was alone yet again, she rolled over in bed just as her servant and chaperone sailed unannounced into her bedroom. 

She sat up, instinctively clutching the sheets around her, warily eyeing the older woman as she swept into her room. 

“Good morning, Mistress. Mrs. Rothworth said that we needed to wake you. We’ve a lot to do if we’re going to be leaving for London tonight. Would you like some breakfast?” 

Elizabeth just shook her head in the negative. 

“She’ll have a muffin and some tea, Heather, thank you. And have some heated water sent up for your mistress’ bath.” 

“But…” Elizabeth began, but cut herself off at the look from her chaperone. “Tea and a muffin will be fine.” 

She sat in bed and watched as the younger woman quickly bobbed a curtsy and left the room. Turning, she glanced at the older woman – demon – whatever she was. What were they exactly? 

When she saw the woman’s brow arch and a broad smile graced her fairly unlined face, Elizabeth clamped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment as her face flamed bright red. 

Had she said that out loud? 

“We’re vampires, dear,” she replied. “Has Lord Arundel not told you?” 

“Uh… no… I didn’t think to ask….” 

“Well, feel free to ask me anything you wish. You’ve a lot to learn in order to walk among the creatures of the night. Although, any misstep you might make will be attributed to the fact that you’re human, and so, not accustomed to our ways. Oh, child, there are so many things you’ll witness… experience…” 

Thinking of the things she’d already experienced, Elizabeth couldn’t help the reappearance of her blush. Seeing it, the vampiress tried to reassure the girl. 

“Yes, sex is one of them… now, none of that…” she stated as her charge looked ready to die of mortification. 

“You… you know?” 

“Elizabeth, there’s not many scents that can get past me. And, well,” she tried to put it as delicately as she could, but even she wasn’t immune to the scent of the vampire that clung to the girl’s body like a second skin. At Elizabeth’s questioning look, she focused on the conversation and continued with her explanation. “Vampires have heightened senses. I can smell him all over you. Second, he’s claimed you… something glaringly obvious that even the most inept of vampires would sense right away. And before you ask, yes, there are some out there. Because you’ve been claimed, it’s a given that you’d… he’d… renew it. So, blood and sex.” 

“Wait… _claimed_?” 

Mrs. Rothworth crossed the room and sat on the bed beside the confused girl. She lightly patted her knee, marveling to herself at her suddenly caring manner. But the girl was a novelty, the first human she’d heard of to be claimed, yet not turned. 

“Yes… that feeling that you belong to him, and only him. Can’t you feel it? Something deep inside your being that yearns for him… even now while you’re parted.” 

“Yes…” she whispered. “And these feelings?” 

“Feelings are different. True, they make it easier… but something has to be there to begin with… arousal, desire, lust… love. Feelings need something from which to manifest themselves.” 

“So, it’s not just this… this _claim_ that makes me feel this way?” 

“Oh, no, child. If you have feelings for your vampire… they’re most decidedly your own. The claim just… I guess you could say… enhances them.” 

Just then, there was a knock at the door. The older woman called out for the men to enter – her vampiric hearing having detected the five males bearing heated buckets. The two women watched as the men quickly filled the tub near to the brim, before they soundlessly left the room. 

“Come, let’s get you cleaned up and dressed. We do have a lot to accomplish if we plan on leaving here this evening.” 

Elizabeth allowed herself to be pulled from her bed and over to where the tub beckoned invitingly. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

True to her word, Mrs. Rothworth had the household staff running hither and yon. She wanted to get back to London as soon as possible to get plans set in motion for introducing Lord Arundel’s ward to the ton. Something that couldn’t be accomplished rusticating in the countryside. 

The sun had just disappeared over the horizon when Lord Arundel, his ward, along with her chaperone and a few of the essential household staff descended the stairs to the waiting carriages. The cook, housekeeper, and Elizabeth’s lady’s maid sat in the second carriage, leaving just William, Elizabeth, and Mrs. Rothworth in the lead carriage. 

Elizabeth tried to maintain a sense of propriety as she settled in beside her chaperone as they began their long journey back to London. William hadn’t said anything, and a small part of her – a really small part, she told herself – wished he’d taken matters into his own hands and demanded that she sit next to him. That thought brought another to her mind, and she squirmed in her seat as images of her standing naked, facing her bedroom door, ran through her mind. 

Suddenly recalling Mrs. Rothworth’s earlier words about their excellent sense of smell, Elizabeth furiously shoved those wicked thoughts aside and tried to recall the most boring memory she could think of. _There._ That would do quite nicely. With a soundless sigh, her weary body leaned against the carriage wall – visions of her Latin tutor reverberating in her head. It wasn’t long before she’d drifted off to sleep. 

Spike, for his part, did his best to ignore the Slayer. It wouldn’t do for him to show Mrs. Rothworth how much it bothered him that the girl had chosen to sit across from him, rather than next to him. His jaw worked as he tried to tamp down his frustration and he hoped fervently that someone would attempt a robbery on their journey to the city. He could do with a little violence right now. Oh, he’d smelled the brief flare of arousal from the Slayer, and mentally groaned as the scent had washed over him. He’d even noticed her chaperone scoot further away from the girl so as not to be even slightly tempted. 

The damned bint just had no idea what she was doing to them. Hence, the need to take out his unfulfilled desire on some unsuspecting victim with a little rough and tumble. If he couldn’t have sex, he’d have to settle for mayhem. 

~*~*~*~*~

The abrupt jarring of the carriage caused the Slayer to groan in her sleep and almost disrupted her perch upon her seat. Seeing an excuse to hold her, Spike leaned over and clasped the girl to him and settled her comfortably on his lap. His demon was slightly appeased to finally be holding the Slayer, and almost purred in contentment when she burrowed closer and settled back into sleep. 

He glanced up sharply to see if Mrs. Rothworth was looking at him, but saw that she was wisely paying them no attention. He did, however, see the slight smile playing about her lips – as if she were secretly amused – and issued a warning growl. Placated when the grin slipped away, revealing the stoic features once more, Spike returned his attention to the girl he held. 

A part of him wished she would get her memories back so that they could dance. But, another part – one he refused to acknowledge – liked this side of the Slayer. Liked her unknowing and unaware. He particularly liked the way she clung to him, even in sleep, as if she couldn’t get close enough. 

Silly for a vampire – _himself_ especially – to be having these feelings, yet it was true. A part of him blamed the claim for making him feel this way. 

Another smaller part, one he refused to acknowledge, told him the claim had nothing to do with it.

~*~*~*~*~ 

When the carriage pulled up in front of his townhouse, Spike carefully woke the Slayer and set her down on the seat beside him. Then, frustrated with himself for being so gentle and trying desperately to escape the ghosts that were taunting him, he practically kicked open the door in his haste to exit the contraption. 

“I’ll leave things in your capable hands,” he told Mrs. Rothworth before storming off into the night, blatantly ignoring the hurt look that crossed the Slayer’s features. 

He needed some destruction, some violence, a good kill. He didn’t need these conflicted feelings he was having towards the Slayer. She was his enemy, his opposite. His night to her day. He was evil and she was innocence personified. 

Bloody hell. 

He walked into Whitt’s fervently hoping that the rest of the night filled with drinking and gambling, and maybe some other sport, might take his mind off the hurt-filled pair of hazel eyes that had gazed at him in sleepy confusion just moments before he had stormed off.

~*~*~*~*~

Elizabeth looked over at Mrs. Rothworth, not understanding what had just happened.

Mrs. Rothworth didn’t know what to tell the girl to make her feel better, so instead tried to distract her. “Come on, child, let’s get you inside. We’ve a lot to do in order to get you launched into society and we cannot waste time worrying about Lord Arundel.” 

The two women swept down from the carriage, their bearing that worthy of a queen’s, as they sailed up the walk leading to the front door of Lord Arundel’s townhouse. They paid no mind to the other carriages along the lane whose occupants were gawking at the petite brunette and her apparent chaperone as the women entered the absentee Earl’s townhouse. 

Mrs. Rothworth silently smiled; the brief glimpse of her charge by some of the lesser nobility went a long way towards increasing the mystique. If whispered rumors of Elizabeth weren’t circling the ton before nightfall tomorrow… well… she’d give up feeding. 

That was how confident she was that Elizabeth was going to take London by storm. And that wasn’t even accounting for the even more select group of vampiric nobility. There, it was a given she would cause a sensation. The only humans that were allowed into the inner circle of Aurelian vampires were servants and food. 

This slip of a girl was going to be the hit of the season. An original. 

~*~*~*~*~

Spike almost fell flat on his face as the front door to the townhouse opened unannounced, the borrowed blood and alcohol made his mind fuzzy, and it took him a moment to realize that the butler had opened the damn thing on him. He pierced the elderly man with a look, but the man’s stoicism caused him to grumble under his breath – nonsensical words even he didn’t understand – as he stomped up the stairs to his room.

His perverse mind didn’t care who he managed to wake along the way. Yet, the one person he wanted to wake… well, she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. The heartbeat, or lack thereof, cleared his mind somewhat and he ignored the sudden feelings of trepidation as he rushed into his room and dashed towards the joining door. 

He pushed it open, already knowing that the room was vacant. But still, he had to see, confirming with his eyes what his ears and nose had already told him. 

She wasn’t there. There was no trace of her having been in the room. No scent, clothes… nothing. 

He started to panic, unconsciously reaching out with his tethered bond to the slip of a girl he had claimed, as he raced from the room in his search of her. 

The lingering effects of the alcohol disappeared without a trace as he hurried down the hall. His human features slid away as his demon sprang to the fore, wanting every advantage available as he searched for his girl. 

Halfway down the hall, he caught just a trace of her scent, and he breathed a sigh of relief. She was still here… yet, again… no heartbeat. Just where the hell had the Slayer gone? His agitation was getting the better of him and he once more tested the bond the two shared. 

Right now she should be practically zinging with the vibes he was giving her, yet all remained quiet in the pre-dawn household. Frustrated and worried because she was not where she should be, Spike allowed anger to take hold. Anger was better than the anxiety that was currently gripping him. Better to allow his displeasure to show, rather than the apprehension snaking its way into his being. 

As he made his way to the ground floor – the slow, even beating of several heartbeats playing a soft cadence around him – Spike stopped at the foot of the staircase and breathed deeply to catch her scent. He turned left, away from the front door. Just a tiny amount of her lingered there – probably when she had first come inside. His feet made no sound as he moved deeper into the townhouse…and then he stopped. 

_There._

He turned his head slightly and inhaled deeply. Slayer. Just a little trace. What the bloody hell was she doing on the first floor anyway? She should be fast asleep in bed. Well, she was still fast asleep; the one accelerated heartbeat belonged to the butler that had recently let him in – and even now, his was starting to slow as slumber overtook him. 

His pace increased until he was all but running down the hall, the whispering smell tickling his senses giving way to full bloom the closer he got to her. Spike stopped before his study when he felt that she resided within. His anger knew no bounds at the scare she had just given him, and he shoved open the door, intent on giving her an earful followed by a sound bit of punishment. 

The sight that greeted him stopped him cold. 

The Slayer was curled up on one of the chairs situated in front of the fire, her body clad in a frilly white nightgown that covered her from head to toe. Her fingers clutched a pillow – one apparently dragged from his room given the scent he could easily discern – as her head made a pillow out of the arm of the chair. 

She had to be uncomfortable. Yet the serene look upon her face told another story. 

His demon subsided, revealing the high cheekbones and penetrating blue gaze of his human mask. His anger drained away as he realized she’d instinctively sought out the one place she was allowed to go to be closer to him. 

Spike walked over to her, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest for a moment before he lifted her pliant body up in his arms. She didn’t stir at his handling, just settled herself trustingly within his embrace as he left his study. 

Holding his precious cargo close, Spike made his way back up to her room. Once inside, he settled her on the bed and pulled the down-turned covers up over her body. She whimpered in her sleep at the loss of contact, and Spike reached a hand out to trail the tips of his fingers along her cheek and jaw. 

She sighed pleasurably in her sleep, burrowing into the covers. 

He stood there watching her as she slept, amazed at his self-restraint. Since when did he care whether he woke her or not? Again he reminded himself that she was his to do with as he will, at least until he got back to his own time.

Yet he made no move to take her. Just stood there for a moment more before he turned and quietly left the room.


	13. Chapter 13

After what had seemed like minutes, but had in all actuality been several hours, Elizabeth’s maid, Heather, woke her to help her get ready – at her chaperone’s insistence – for a luncheon with a small gathering of a few of the elder woman’s close friends. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Elizabeth didn’t even bother to protest, didn’t ask who the people were, just dragged her weary body from bed and stepped into the steaming water that filled the tub tucked behind the privacy screen. 

Later, dressing in the gown Mrs. Rothworth had picked out – a soft lime green creation that brought out the color in her eyes – she’d walked down the hall leading to the banister, eyes momentarily lingering on the closed door of her guardian, then descended the steps under the approving gaze of her chaperone. 

“You look beautiful, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Rothworth murmured softly before they both bundled into outerwear to protect them from the pouring rain. 

Once inside the carriage for their short trip to the Marchioness of Haversham’s residence, Mrs. Rothworth told Elizabeth about the small gathering of women that would be present.

Elizabeth listened intently, never before having realized that these monsters – _vampires_ – lived among them. 

“So, the Marchioness, Lady Haversham, she’s like you? A... a vampire?” Elizabeth asked. 

“Yes. She’s widowed. Has been for about five years now. Her husband, he was a vampire as well. Theirs was a love match, but that story will have to wait for another time. Suffice to say, our Renee is one of the Aurelian darlings. And she’s just going to love you.” 

“Really?” 

“Trust me, child. Now, there will be other human members of the ton present at our intimate gathering. Appearances and all. It’ll be a while yet before you attend an all-vampire function. For now, I’ll just point them out as we are introduced.” 

Elizabeth nodded, completely overwhelmed. 

“Now, where was I? Oh, oh yes. Her Grace, the Duchess of Sevring will be there – she’s human. The annual ball she holds will be your first formal appearance, and that’s in a fortnight. Lady Celeste Devlin, the daughter of the Duke of Rutherford; she’s also human, although her brother, the Marquess of Brummidge, isn’t.” She took a breath and smiled ruefully. “But, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll just stick with the people we’re meeting today.” 

“Yes, please,” Elizabeth whimpered, already confused. It was bad enough having to remember their names, but then to throw in whether they were vampire or human – her naïve mind boggled at the mere thought. 

“The other two ladies are the Countess of Valasay, who is human, and the Countess of Darderwyne, who is a vampire. Just the crème de la crème of society for your first introduction. As Lord Arundel’s new ward, your entrance has been practically guaranteed among those of society’s unsuspecting. As the claimed human of a master vampire, it’s a given.” 

Elizabeth desperately tried to grasp the implications of her newfound status. She just prayed the lessons of deportment from long ago would allow her to hold her own – she was country gentry, the only daughter of a baron. She wasn’t sure she fit in among the ton’s elite. 

“… has set the tongues to wagging coming back after such a long departure, and his father on his deathbed.” 

“Father?” Elizabeth croaked, catching the tail end of her chaperone’s conversation. 

“Yes, the Marquess of Chadsworth. I suspect Lord Arundel will hie himself off to Chadsworth Estates for a day or two to check in on the Marquess. It’s probably why he was in such a foul mood yesterday. The two never did see eye to eye. Didn’t help that rather than bow to his father’s dictates, he went out and made his own fortune. The man is as rich as Croesus and will have all the mothers and their daughters of polite society in a dither trying to land him.” 

“Huh?” 

“My dear, your guardian is the biggest catch next to the Duke of Abberly and the Marquess of Eaglethorp. And the fact that he now has a ward, and a gorgeous, marriageable one at that, just adds fuel to the fire.” 

“But… he’s _mine_ ,” Elizabeth practically shouted at her chaperone. _‘Good Lord, did I just say that?’_

Across from her, Mrs. Rothworth laughed delightedly, just as the carriage came to a stop. 

“I know that, dear.” She smiled at Elizabeth and patted her hand. “It’s just that everyone else doesn’t. Now, let’s go mingle, shall we?” 

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip in hesitation, then finally nodded. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

The pouring rain provided an excellent backdrop to Elizabeth’s sour mood – not that any hint of it showed on her face as she sat among the intimate gathering of England’s well-known noblewomen. It seemed like it had been almost dawn before she’d finally fallen into an exhausted sleep in William’s study, after having spent half the night tossing and turning alone in her bed in the room located down the hall from his. She’d waited for him, unsure what she had done to make him angry, causing him to storm from the carriage as he had.

But she’d waited in vain.

Unable to bear it any longer, she’d finally climbed from her bed and crept down to his study – stealing into his bedroom to grab a pillow – just to try and get closer to him. 

Well, the essence of him, anyway. 

He’d been further away from her last night than he had been when he’d left her waiting in the countryside while he’d gone off alone to London. 

Now as the soft laughter of the Marchioness of Haversham broke into her reverie, Elizabeth ignored her feelings of melancholy and tried to make a good impression for the ladies present. 

They’d all made her feel right at home, especially Lady Haversham – just as her chaperone had predicted – greeting her warmly, eyes glowing almost yellow as she regarded Elizabeth. 

“Does take some getting used to, Renee,” Mrs. Rothworth had whispered to Lady Haversham. 

“Yes,” she’d replied, the fingers of one hand reaching out to trail along the girl’s cheek. “Smart vampire, our Lord Arundel, keeping the claim strong.”

“Master vampire, Renee.” 

“Mmmm. Yes. You can smell him all over her.” Elizabeth had blushed at that, but was prepared for the comment, having been told previously about a vampire’s excellent sense of smell. 

“So, when do we get to meet our wayward Lord Arundel?” the Marchioness had asked Mrs. Rothworth, reluctantly moving away from her charge.

“I am not privy to Lord Arundel’s immediate plans, although I do know that he’ll be attending the Duke of Sevring’s ball.” 

“I should hope so. He’s been absent for far too long,” she’d called over her shoulder, leading them towards the sitting room where the others had been socializing. 

She’d introduced Elizabeth with the warm familiarity of a long lost friend and the other women in the group quickly enveloped her in their inner circle. It was all she could do to keep their names, faces, and humanity straight as she greeted one woman after the other, curtseying low to the women around her. If her chaperone wasn’t absolutely positive of her place among this group, Elizabeth might have cowered among the high-ranking ladies surrounding her. As it was, she settled in with them as if she were assured of her right to be there. She watched the eyes of the Marchioness of Darderwyne widen as she was introduced, but other than that, there was no noticeable sign that the vampires were any different from the other women present. 

There had also been a tense moment when Elizabeth had actually met Lady Celeste’s brother – her vampire brother – as he’d escorted her sister to the small gathering before leaving for his club, and almost shuddered at the gleaming light that had come into his eyes as she’d curtsied before him, only to dim slightly as he’d realized that she belonged to another. Swallowing at what her fate might have been, she murmured her greetings and practically plastered herself to her chaperone’s side until he’d left. 

Now that it was time to leave, she was grateful for her chaperone having arranged the little gathering for her benefit. It had proven enlightening to see how they – vampires – had interacted among the other humans in the group. She felt somewhat better about herself that she wasn’t the only one that hadn’t noticed any differences among the assembled ladies. The Duchess was just as in the dark as she had once been, what? A week ago? 

With a gracious smile to her host and the others, she bade her goodbyes and left with her chaperone, promising to call on them again before the Duchess of Sevring’s ball next week. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it, Elizabeth?” Mrs. Rothworth asked as soon as they got out of the deluge and were settled comfortably in the carriage. 

“They seemed very,” Elizabeth struggled for an appropriate word. “nice.” 

Mrs. Rothworth laughed at that. Nice? No, not nice, never nice. She liked to think practical. They couldn’t go around killing off all the members of the ton. It was a balance – intermingle with society and feed on the unsuspecting, the unnoticed. 

“Oh, you are a delight. Now we must hurry and get home. We’ve tickets to the opera. Just a little something to get you out in the public eye without anyone being able to engage you in conversation. Although, with the earl back in town, that may prove more difficult than I had planned.” 

“Sounds lovely,” Elizabeth replied behind a yawn. 

“Maybe a little nap might be in order first. Did you not sleep well last night?” 

Thinking of William and his sudden disappearing act, she frowned, then sighed. 

“Don’t worry, dear. I’m sure he’ll make it up to you. He won’t be able to ignore you for long before the lure of your blood calls to him.” 

Elizabeth flushed but didn’t say anything. There was nothing she could say. She just prayed that lure, or whatever it was, worked fast. She missed him, and his touch. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike looked down at the sleeping Slayer leaning against his side and suppressed a grin. The girl had the right of it. Struggling to hide his own yawn, he deftly hid her snoozing status from any of the prying eyes in the theater. It helped that their box was situated so as to not allow others to see them very well. 

Praying for intermission, he zoned out as the fat lady sang… _literally_. 

_‘About bloody time!’_ Spike thought to himself as the curtain finally dropped to the last strains of the aria leaving the woman’s mouth. He carefully nudged the Slayer awake as Mrs. Rothworth slipped one arm under the girl’s elbow to assist her in standing. 

“Is it over?” Elizabeth asked William sleepily. 

“No, pet, but we are. Time to get you home and in bed. I think we’ve accomplished what we needed to. Am I right, Mrs. Rothworth?” 

“Yes, I can safely say Elizabeth will be the topic of discussion amongst the ton this evening.” 

“Good. Now let’s get out of here. This damn opera is putting even _me_ to sleep.” 

Behind him, Mrs. Rothworth silently agreed. They could have been out having a nocturnal adventure instead of sitting inside and cringing at the overly loud music as it grated over their sensitive ears. 

As the trio stepped into the lobby, many tried to stop their exit out into the night. Spike’s look stopped all but the most zealous of people. Assuring a few that he’d be by the club tomorrow, he was able to forestall a long conversation with the two gentlemen. 

Then they were free of the crowded lobby and outside hailing their driver – who quickly spotted them and moved the horses forward on an intercept course. The coach had no sooner come to a stop than he was lifting the Slayer in his arms and depositing her inside, quickly following behind her so that Mrs. Rothworth could step in after him. A quick jab of his cane put the conveyance in motion. 

The lulling motion eased the Slayer back into slumber and Spike let out an aggrieved sigh before gathering the girl in his arms once again as they made their way back to his townhouse. He buried his nose in her neck and inhaled her scent, completely ignoring the woman seated across from him. After leaving her alone last night, his body radiated with sexual tension, and he couldn’t wait to get home to ease the ache only she seemed to relieve.


	14. Chapter 14

Spike set the Slayer on her feet and watched as she walked up the walkway next to her chaperone. She looked quite fetching in all of her finery, but he’d gotten used to woman wearing a whole lot less. He turned away from her to dismiss the coachman before following the two women inside. Nodding to the butler who greeted him with a stiff, “Good evening, m’lord,” Spike caught a glimpse of the Slayer as she moved along the banister and out of sight. 

He figured that she’d be a while with her maid, so he walked to his study and poured himself a liberal dose of brandy. For being stuck in the past, he had to admit the situation wasn’t half bad; he could actually get used to the bowing and scraping that came with being a titled nobleman – something that hadn’t been the case when he’d been the poncey William during his pre-vampire days. Now, with the ton clamoring for his presence, Spike had to grin at the irony. 

Another thought caused the smile to disappear, a frown marring his features. He knew he had a “father” – though he’d thought they were estranged. But, apparently the old man was on his deathbed, given the summons glaring up at him from its place on his desktop. He eyed the seal of the Marquess of Chadsworth and resigned himself to another visit to the countryside. Although, what his father would want with him, was anyone’s guess. 

He snorted into his glass before downing the contents in one long swallow. Crossing to the bar, he refilled it and settled behind his desk to go over the correspondence that never seemed to clear from the surface. All the while, he waited for the sounds of the various heartbeats resounding in his ear to slow, signaling their slumber. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike stepped inside his room and dismissed his valet. He crossed the interior, his stocking feet making no noise on the wooden floor, and stood before the mantle of the fireplace. The flickering flames provided the only light in the room while he sipped idly at the brandy held loosely in his grasp. As he gazed at the fire, his mind drifted over his current predicament. 

He’d been in sticky situations. Hell, the incident in Prague had been a close call, but nothing like this. Since his turning, he’d always had his sire, but now he found himself alone, only the Slayer – and he was still laughing at the irony of that – for company, and his only means of returning. And the fates, or those bloody Powers, forcing him to claim the girl to keep her alive indefinitely…

His feelings were becoming engaged and it was all their bloody fault. 

It went against everything a vampire was, stood for. 

But as he twirled the amber liquid in his glass before swallowing the remaining contents in one long gulp, he found that he couldn’t seem to care.

And therein lay the rub.

Spike, William the Bloody, Master Vampire of the Aurelius line, was falling for the slip of the girl currently ensconced in her room down the hall. The Slayer of Slayers was becoming a traitor to his kind. His dark princess was fast fading to a distant memory the more time he spent with the Slayer. His sire, the dark-haired vampiress that had gifted him with immortality, was just a blurry image in his mind, and he hated it. 

So he blamed the Powers. Shoot, he blamed Drusilla for getting hurt in the first place – thus forcing him to go to the Hellmouth in order to seek out her cure. If he hadn’t gone to Sunnydale, he never would have encountered the Slayer, never would have lusted after her even while plotting her demise, never would have bitten into her neck and sipped the delicious nectar of her blood, never would have found himself stuck in this internal struggle. 

Refusing to dwell any longer, he pushed away from the mantle with a snort.

The Slayer was his now. If he wanted her, he’d take her.

And damn the consequences. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Elizabeth was having a wickedly sinful dream. Her lover was there, in her bed, doing pleasurable things with his hands and tongue. Somehow her nightgown had been stripped from her body, leaving her exposed to his heated gaze. She felt his hands slide lower, felt a finger as it teased the opening of her pussy, coating the digit with her budding desire. Her hips bucked off the bed as first one finger and then another slipped inside. 

“More,” she demanded. For in her dreams, she was able to shed the virginal attributes of her upbringing and give in to her baser nature. She sighed with pleasure when she felt a third finger join the other two; but it still wasn’t enough. 

Showing an uncanny amount of strength, she pushed him to his back and settled herself on top of him. She heard him growl and glanced down at his vampiric features. Using both hands, she ran them over the ridges above his brow in a soothing caress. His eyes closed, shielding his gaze from hers, and leaned into her touch. 

Moving her hands from his brow, she trailed them over sharp cheekbones and down along his neck. Emboldened by her lover’s reactions, she went lower, running them over the black leather covering his shoulders, and down along his stomach hidden by the black shirt. Her hands hovered over the button to his pants and she gazed back up at him, unsure how to proceed. 

_“Spike, I need…”_

In a flash, she was on her back, her legs spread wide as William filled her with his length. The remnants of her dream blurred, the sudden burst of sensation between her legs forced her eyes open to lock with those of her lover. Her legs lifted, wrapping around his lower back and holding him in place. 

Spike’s hips pistoned back and forth, suddenly overcome with desire at the Slayer’s brief show of strength and aggression. He wasn’t going to last long this first time, could already feel his balls tightening with his impending release. Slipping his hand between their joined bodies, he stroked her clit. His eyes rolled back in his head as he felt her inner walls clench around him, her orgasm slamming through her body. 

Gritting his teeth, his pace increased until he, too, gave into his body’s demands. With a hoarse shout, his fangs found their mark, and he drank down her blood as his cock pulsed with his release. 

The second penetration coaxed another orgasm from her body, and Elizabeth could do nothing but hold on tightly as the sucking sensation at her neck triggered an answering thrum at her core. Her lover collapsed on top of her, and she gloried in the feel of his weight. She winced slightly as he pulled his fangs from her neck then sighed in pleasure as his tongue laved the fresh marks. 

“Mine,” she mumbled sleepily, “don’t care what she says.” 

With a contented sigh, she drifted off, only to be awoken an hour later by her insatiable lover. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“What are your plans for today?” he asked Mrs. Rothworth. 

“Actually, we’re staying in. We’ll let the mystery surrounding Elizabeth build. Although, I suspect we’ll receive a few visitors from the small gathering we attended yesterday.” 

Spike grunted. 

“I’m off to Chadsworth Estates for a few days. I’d prefer if Elizabeth were to stay home while I’m gone. Throw a small party here. Whatever.” 

The vampiress stared at the master vampire, but seeing the set features of his face, wisely chose to nod her head in assent. 

Spike, for his part, hated to leave the Slayer, worried that her memories were going to come back while he was rusticating in the country, caving to the demands of his father. He would have taken the Slayer with him, but figured he’d already be flying by the seat of his pants once he confronted the Marquess and didn’t need the added mix of his “ward” thrown in as well. He would have preferred to not show at all, but he couldn’t continue to ignore the summons from the old man. Better to just go and get it over with.

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike knew it was the Slayer before she even knocked on his door seeking entrance. Rather than call out, he walked over and opened the door to his sanctuary. 

“You wanted something, pet?” he asked, holding the door open so she could enter. 

She walked into the room as he shut the door behind her, taking in the masculine décor of the space. She stopped, not facing him, hugging her arms about herself to ward off a sudden chill. Turning, she watched him as he leaned against the closed door, arms folded over his chest as he smirked at her. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, how the thought of him leaving her, again, could make her feel this way. And the idea of all those women throwing themselves at him – she just couldn’t stand it. 

Unshed tears in her eyes, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms about his waist as she allowed them to fall. 

Spike looked down at the Slayer, arms held out wide as she latched onto him. He felt her shoulders shaking and sighed in resignation as his arms closed around her back, holding her close. 

“What’s this, kitten?” he murmured into her hair. 

Disjointed words of “mommas” and “catch” drifted up to him in between her sobs, but it was the “mine” and “miss you” that got to him. Sighing, Spike lifted the Slayer in his arms and crossed to the chaise lounge. He sat, settling her on his lap, and proceeded to stroke her hair and hold her while she cried. 

The sound of her tears was doing crazy things to his demon. Her heartfelt sobs were affecting him in ways he’d yet to fathom. Made him want to tear out the heart of whoever had caused them. 

“It’s alright, love. I’m only going to be gone a few days. I’d take you with me but I don’t think my father can handle seeing my ward just yet. I’ll be back before you know it. Mrs. Rothworth will keep you so busy with callers and such that you’ll barely even notice I’m gone.” 

He placed his hand under her chin, urging her to look at him. Brushed lips across her forehead, then tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear. He was doing it again – showering her with kindness – being soft with her. Instead of getting angry with himself and storming off, Spike just pulled her close and held her. 

The two remained that way for several moments until, reluctantly, he set her away from him so that he could leave. 

“Behave, Slayer,” he told her, then was gone. 

Elizabeth watched him depart, her hand held high as she waved goodbye. He never saw; he didn’t turn around.


	15. Chapter 15

Spike glanced outside his carriage and snorted. The cloudy sky cast a gloomy pall over the palatial building and a reluctant smile pulled at his lips that his “father” would exile himself to such a dismal setting. The summons he’d received had been unwanted – when Spike had read over the small packet of papers given to him by Doyle, he’d been thankful that he wouldn’t have to worry about interacting with his “family” – something he thought he wouldn’t have to deal with.

Just one more thing to grumble about. 

The two had been estranged, or so the papers had indicated. For all intents and purposes, William had turned his back on his father – his wealth and his title – and gone off and made his own fortune. Spike had to laugh at that; just like him to thumb his nose at tradition. But when he’d “returned,” society had easily slipped into calling him the Earl of Arundel, most likely at the PTB’s manipulations. 

It was with a heavy dragging of feet – very like a child called on the carpet for some devilry – that Spike stepped down from the carriage and climbed the sweeping staircase to the main doors. Naturally, the thing swung open before he even had a chance to knock. 

“Good afternoon, m’lord,” the butler intoned in a nasally voice as Spike swept across the threshold.

Spike didn’t pause, just barked out, “Where is the old man?” 

“I believe the Marquess is in his study, m’lord.” 

“Of course he is,” he mumbled then stopped, unsure where exactly his father’s study was located. 

“This way, m’lord,” the butler spoke after firmly closing the main door. The old man walked down the hallway, bypassing several doors, then stopped before one near the end of the hall. He knocked briefly, and at a terse, “Come in,” immediately opened the doors and announced Spike. 

Spike rolled his eyes and sailed into the room as the butler formally announced him to his father. He glanced at the feeble old man, took note of his narrowed gaze as he settled himself into a seat before the desk at the older man’s gesture. He was somewhat surprised at the condition of the man – his father. His vampiric hearing could detect the accelerated heartbeat, the wheezing breath that the other tried to hide, but failed. 

He leaned back nonchalantly in his chair and waited for the man to speak, boredom oozing from his frame as he lounged. 

A reluctant smile came to the Marquess’ lips as he regarded his son. 

“Drink?” he asked, trying his best to ease the tension but retain some sense of authority over the situation. After nearly ten years of absolutely no contact with his son – the harsh words he’d uttered so long ago, and spoken in haste, causing a breach between the two – he didn’t quite know how to begin. But as he looked at his son, successful in his own right, he couldn’t prevent the fatherly pride that filled his being. 

Spike, for his part, just nodded and crossed to the bar and poured himself something, waving off the servant that hovered inside the room. The Marquess saw the gesture and quickly dismissed the man. 

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” the older man spoke once Spike had resumed his seat. 

A quirked brow was his only response; Spike really didn’t know what else to say. For once, he held his tongue and let the other speak. 

“’m dying, son,” the Marquess stated without preamble. As if to prove the validity of his words, he broke into a fit of coughing that eventually ended with blood liberally coating his handkerchief.

Spike watched the man with unblinking eyes. 

Changing the morbid topic for the moment, the Marquess asked, “So, who’s this ward… a Lady Elizabeth Summers… that I’ve been hearing about? She actually your ward, or something more?” 

Spike joined the old man in a coughing fit as the bourbon he’d just swallowed caused him to nearly choke. 

“Bloody hell, old man! Who told–?” he began, only to change directions and ask abruptly, “Why do you care?” 

In a rare show of spryness, the Marquess just laughed and said, “Come now, William. The ton is nothing but a bunch of gossiping old biddies. Actually, you have your friend to thank for putting that little tidbit in my ear. All my other sources state that Lady Elizabeth is just that, your ward.” 

As if beckoned, there was a brief knock at the door before the butler opened it and announced, “Viscount Tellidyne, m’lord.” 

“Tellidyne, come in. William just arrived. Join us for a drink.” 

Doyle stepped inside and cautiously made his way towards the – he could only assume – silently seething vampire and the Marquess. This _so_ wasn’t his fault. He was just the damn messenger. Fucking Powers and their meddling, leaving him holding the bag! _And_ dealing with a pissed off vampire.

“Chadsworth,” Doyle inclined his head at the Marquess in greeting. “William.”

He grabbed some liquid courage before sitting down in the seat next to the vampire. 

“Doyle,” Spike murmured softly to the half-breed, leaving no doubt as to his mood. His quirked brow at the other silently indicated their need for a discussion once the two were alone. 

Spike was grateful when the old man dropped the topic currently under discussion and settled into more mundane, less personal, subjects. He couldn’t wait to get the Irishman alone to give him a piece of his mind… and maybe even the tips of his fangs. To leave him floundering with this situation with the Marquess when he’d been given information that the two hadn’t spoken in ten years only added to his annoyance; Spike was ready to feed off the older man to save himself the hassle. He’d surprised himself at the restraint he’d exhibited thus far, and attributed it to the fact that things were done a little differently in this time than when he’d been turned as a vampire. 

Again he wondered what had happened to cause them to stop circulating with humans and retreat to the shadows of the night. Mentally shrugging, he turned his attention to the other two and grimaced as the Marquess succumbed to another round of coughing and excused himself to retire for a while. 

Spike and Doyle stood when he did and watched as he shuffled to the door. 

“Stay for dinner, William?” the Marquess asked, his voice weary with fatigue. Spike glanced up to where the man stood by the door, looking at him with eyes filled with hope. He glanced at Doyle to gauge his reaction – the other demon just watched him and waited. He turned away and looked at the old man, could see his face fall as if sensing a denial and something in him couldn’t stop the agreement from passing his lips. 

The Marquess beamed at him before leaving the two alone, announcing that dinner would be at eight o’clock sharp. 

Once the door closed, Spike turned and was ready to tear the hide off Doyle. He opened his mouth to do just that, but the half-breed beat him to it. 

“Don’t look at me! I don’t know what they were thinking! They’d picked the earl because of his estrangement from his father. Who knew that on his deathbed the old guy would have a change of heart?” 

Just listening to that excuse leave the other’s lips caused Spike to snort in disgust. He’d had just about enough of these Powers and their plans. And, why the bloody hell had he thrown the old guy a bone? He was evil for fuck’s sake! What did he care if he hurt the wanker? It’s what he lived for – hurt, mayhem, and destruction – all of which seemed to have gone to hell in a hand basket once he’d been sucked back in time. 

“So, tell me, mate. Why does my ‘ _da_ ’ think I’ve got something going on with my ward?” The softly spoken question in no way detracted from the menace currently oozing from the vampire. Beside him, Doyle gulped and held up his hands in innocent supplication. 

“Remember? Me? Messenger here!” Doyle began, backing up as Spike slowly stalked him. He looked skyward in entreaty murmuring, “A little help here, guys?” 

Spike didn’t even hesitate as he stalked towards the other demon, who wisely – or unwisely – continued to back away. His face shifted, clearly indicating how brassed off he was at being stuck in this current situation – catering to an old man who seemed at death’s door. 

“Spike… look… it wasn’t me. The Powers…” his voice trailed off as Spike pinned him up against the wall. 

“I think the Powers have bloody done enough. You’ve dealt me this hand, and I’ve agreed to play it so I can get back home. But I’m tired of the aces appearing up your sleeves. You want me to make nice, you need to back off and let me handle this as I see fit. No more manipulating me, or the situation. I’ve done what you asked and claimed the Slayer, now leave me alone. I’m running the show, in case you haven’t noticed. And if you wanna see your Slayer returned alive and in one piece, you’ll leave me to it.” 

It was an empty threat on Spike’s part, but Doyle didn’t need to know that. 

“Alright. Alright. I’ll relay your message. Now, can you let me go?” 

Spike snarled once more for good measure then finally shoved Doyle away from him. He didn’t really want to fight with the half-breed, but he had to make his position clear to these Powers that seemed to want to keep fucking with his unlife. He kind of liked the Irishman. Other than the brief stint in the club, he’d yet to really socialize with anyone and he found himself bored. He was used to action, especially the 21st century variety and Doyle represented a piece of that, even if he was batting for the good guys. Unfortunately, beggars couldn’t be choosers and Spike figured he’d while away the time until dinner hanging out with the demon. 

Doyle breathed a sigh of relief that Spike had let him off so easily. He was shocked as hell when the vampire invited him to sit for a game of chess. The two spent the afternoon drinking, talking about old times, and playing the strategic board game. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“I trust you had a pleasant afternoon?” the Marquess asked once the first course had been placed before them. 

Spike mumbled a reply which the older man no doubt didn’t hear due to the fair amount of distance separating them as they sat at the respective heads of the table; Doyle was situated at a spot midway down its length between the two. The vampire rolled his eyes – and in a moment of irony – prayed for deliverance. With a scrape of his chair he stood, then – much to the astonishment of the servants scattered about the room – he grabbed his plate and walked past the twelve chairs lining one side and sat down on his father’s right. Doyle also stood and seated himself across from the vampire. 

The Marquess was shocked, yet oddly touched by the gesture, completely overlooking his son’s mumbled remarks about not being able to hear one another as spread out as they were. 

The meal flowed much more easily after that. Well, after Spike snorted at Doyle as the half-breed gaped at him for eating human food. Just because he was a vampire and didn’t need to eat, didn’t mean he wasn’t supposed to eat – he could appreciate a well-cooked meal just as much as the next bloke. 

The three men discussed politics and business – as well as a host of other topics – that kept them entertained long after they’d finished their meal and retired to the Marquess’ study. Then, the Marquess brought up his reason for summoning his son to his estate, and Doyle swore he could hear the proverbial pin drop in the room. He nearly laughed at the incredulous expression on the vampire’s face, but one look from said vampire wiped the forming smile right off his mouth. 

“You want me to do _what_?” Spike roared in his incredulity. 

“I want you to get married, and secure the line of the Thornton’s,” the Marquess yelled back, coming to his feet and bracing his hands on the desk as anger overtook him – completely forgetting about how his machinations had alienated his son so many years before. 

“Doyle,” he growled low in his throat and pinned the man with his glacial stare. 

Doyle raised his hands in an act that claimed his innocence as he slowly backed away from the pair. “Maybe I should leave you two alone. Sounds like this is a family matter.” 

“Oh no you don’t! You’re staying right here,” Spike demanded, eyes narrowed on the other demon until Doyle nodded back his compliance. Momentarily satisfied, his gaze swung back to his father and he opened his mouth once again to blast the man for trying to interfere in his life once again. 

“Please, William,” the older man finally begged, slumping back into his chair. “I don’t have long, and I’d like to see you settled – at least with a wife – before I die. Please. Grant your father this…” 

Doyle waited to see what the vampire would do. He watched as the two men eyed each other – one pleading, one furious. He knew Spike was pissed. He stood there, his body taut, as he fought an internal battle with himself. Doyle didn’t think he’d do it, had told the Powers that they were pushing Spike enough as it was and that it would all backfire in their collective faces. They’d been insistent that they could get the vampire to bend to them in this and so had sent their emissary – _him_ – to see if their predictions were correct. More like get his ass killed, or at the very least, kicked, but they didn’t find any humor in his prediction. So, he’d suited up and quickly found himself a guest in the Marquess’ home as they waited for his long lost son to show himself.

~*~*~*~*~

_‘Well, Spike?’_

_‘Shut up, I’m bloody well thinking here.’_

_‘You know you’re gonna do it. Besides, you’ve already claimed her. May as well make her your wife.’_

_‘And what makes you think it’s the Slayer I’ll be having?’_

But even as he thought it, images of her flitted before his eyes – her snuggled in his chair, clutching his pillow to her breast. He could practically smell her scent wash over him as the vision unfolded. Then, images of her asleep in his bed assaulted him, her heat wrapping around him as he slept the morning away. Yeah, he could get used to that. 

Fuck. 

He was going to do it. 

“Alright.” 

The Marquess stared, unsure that he’d heard his son right. “You’ll do it?” 

“I just said so, but I say who and when. My choice of bride won’t be open for discussion.” 

The older man nodded fervently, not caring if he married a chamber maid so long as he married someone. 

“Now, I need to return to London. I’ve a ward to look after and her parents to find.” He turned to the half-breed. “Doyle, I’ll see you back to the city.” His tone brooked no argument. The Irishman nodded, flummoxed that the Powers had been right all along. 

“I’ll follow in a few days and set up residence in my townhouse. I suspect I’ll see you at Sevring’s do?” 

Spike nodded and left the room, Doyle following on his heels. 

After his son was gone, the Marquess bellowed for his butler. “Hodgkins!” 

The dower old manservant opened the study door at his master’s summons. 

“Ready the essential staff. We’re leaving for London for the remainder of the season. I want to be there in two days!” 

“Very good, m’lord,” he replied, and backed out of the room. 

The Marquess of Chadsworth leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Not even the sudden attack of coughing could detract from his good mood. His son was back after ten years, and he was going to get married, too. It was more than he’d ever thought possible.


	16. Chapter 16

The look Spike cast his way dared Doyle to say something. Doyle was a smart man – he kept his mouth shut. For the entire ride back to London, the interior of the carriage lay quiet but for the sounds of the wooden wheels rolling over the graveled road. Spike was silently contemplating his coming nuptials while the other tried to make himself invisible so as not to warrant the former’s regard. 

In the ensuing quiet, Doyle waited for divine intervention from the Powers as to what in the hell he was supposed to do now. Apparently, he was still needed, or he would have been whisked away as soon as everything was as _They_ wished it. But, he had no clue as to what _it_ might be. 

_‘A little help here,’_ he pleaded, his gaze sliding heavenward in silent entreaty. 

The monotonous rumbling of the wooden carriage was his only response. With a furious frown upon his face, Doyle settled his arms across his chest and leaned back – as best he could – into the plush seat. 

Spike glanced at the disgruntled demon and couldn’t help but smirk. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one having his strings yanked. He could almost feel sorry for the other demon. Almost. However, as what he’d just agreed to do made its presence known, Spike quickly changed his mind. Misery loved company, and he was lonely. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Rather than face the Slayer and tell her about their forthcoming marriage, Spike chickened out and dragged Doyle to the club with him. Well, not chickened out. Big Bads weren’t chicken. Far from it. They were mean, and evil, and all with the “grrr.” He about smacked himself in the head for his stupid internal ramblings. It was just… she was in bed, and it was easier to allow the girl to sleep. Nodding, he realized he was being kind. It was the nice thing to do. 

Then he nearly kicked himself, again. Big Bads were not nice either.

Fuck it.

He just wanted to get drunk. Wallow in pity at becoming the Powers’ latest bitch. Maybe by downing a few bottles of liquor, he could figure out how to not have them manipulate him so. 

As the carriage pulled to a stop before Whitt’s, Spike stepped down, grabbing Doyle’s arm to make him follow. 

“Be back before dawn,” he told the driver before the two ambled towards the entrance. 

His presence was noted by several nobles, both human and vampire, as soon as he stepped inside. He left his overcoat with the butler and nodded to several men as he and Doyle made their way towards two vacant chairs, away from the masses. A servant appeared moments after the two settled themselves in their seats, and Spike asked for two glasses of bourbon. 

“And bring the bottle,” he growled. 

“So, mind telling me what I’m doing here, Spike,” Doyle inquired. 

“It’s easy. You wanted me to marry the bint, so you’re just gonna have to stay around and make sure that I do.” 

“ _What_? But I thought you said—?” 

Spike quirked his brow at the other man. 

“’m evil, I can always change my mind. You’re here to keep me company and make sure I don’t.” 

“Fuck.” 

“My sentiments exactly.” 

Just then, the servant arrived with the tumblers and requested bottle. Doyle beat Spike to the serving tray and snagged the bottle and an empty glass, quickly filling it to the brim before swigging a healthy dose. Spike laughed at his gesture, taking the other glass and holding it out for Doyle to fill. He did, raising his half-filled glass in silent salute. 

“To my forthcoming nuptials,” Spike mumbled sardonically, clinking his glass against the others. Little did he realize that his words managed to carry and news of the earl’s forthcoming marriage – and a little speculation on whom the lucky girl might be – spread through the club like wildfire. Instead, the two demons proceeded to get thoroughly trashed, both lamenting their current situation.

~*~*~*~*~

“Is it me, or is everyone lookin’ at me kinda funny?” Spike slurred some time later. He poured the last of the second bottle of bourbon into his glass and eyed the contents contemplatively. 

Doyle glanced around, his blurry eyes taking in the demeanor of several men scattered around the club. His eyes squinted as he tried to bring their faces into focus. 

“Dunno,” he replied drunkenly, his Irish brogue heavily pronounced. “Can’t rightly see ‘em. They’re fuzzy.” 

Spike snorted. “Bloody fat lot of good you are, mate. Come on. Sunrise’ll be here in about an hour, we should prolly get home.” 

So saying, Spike staggered to his feet, weaving slightly until his head stopped spinning. He glanced down at Doyle as the other tried to get up, lost his balance, and tumbled back into his chair. 

“What’sa matter? Can’t hold your liquor, mate?” Spike slurred.

Finally, Doyle managed to get his feet beneath him and they both stumbled their way through the club towards the exit. 

His carriage was waiting out front, as requested, and the two made a spectacle of themselves as they tried to climb inside. 

“Bloody ‘ell, quit movin’, you blasted contraption!” Spike roared at the stationary coach. His hand finally located the handle, latched on and gave a tug downward. The door swung outward towards him nearly knocking him on his ass – the horses didn’t seem to care for the drunken antics of their master and started to prance causing the carriage to shift slightly. Spike nearly had his arm torn from its socket at the sudden movement because he still had a tight grip on the handle. He heard what sounded like snickering coming from behind him and turned around and pinned Doyle with a glare. 

Doyle, in his drunken state, snorted at Spike’s attempt to look fierce. His eyes widened innocently as Spike finally let go of the handle and moved threateningly towards him. Doyle took the opportunity to hurry around the other side and climb – more successfully – into the carriage.

Grumbling under his breath about disrespectful demons, Spike navigated the steps and sat down on the opposite seat. 

~*~*~*~*~

“Why do I gotta stay here again?” Doyle asked drunkenly after almost falling out of the carriage in front of Spike’s townhouse. 

“Because, if I’m gonna be miserable, so are you. Besides, ‘m evil remember? You gotta make sure I actually do marry your bloody slayer.” Spike nodded as if that explanation made perfect sense. “Now come on, I don’t need to become a crispy critter just cuz you can’t ‘old yer liquor and keep falling down all over the place.” 

“Fuck. Damn Powers. Always messin’ with a man. I could be back home, in real clothes, drinking at a real bar. But no! Instead, I’ve got to wear this pansy-ass getup and babysit a damn vampire.” He looked skyward and shouted, “Why am I still here?” 

The vampire’s snort was his only answer. 

Finally, the two managed to stumble their way up the walk and let themselves inside Spike’s home. 

“Come on, I’ll show you where you can sleep it off,” Spike told him as he started his way to the second floor. “You’re about the same size as me, so I’ll get my valet to drop you by a change of clothes.” 

Spike walked down the hallway a bit, then stopped before an empty bedroom. He threw the door open and gestured to the half-breed. 

“Here ya go, mate. When you wake up, find me in the study and we’ll go over the particulars.”

He turned away and moved off towards his own bedroom. Right now, Spike wanted nothing more than to sleep off the alcohol he’d consumed and pray that today had just been a dream and he’d wake up to find things back to normal. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Elizabeth, completely unaware that her guardian had returned just hours before she’d risen, sat surrounded by several of the women from the previous days’ social gatherings. Even though she maintained an outward calm, inside she was silently crying. All everyone could seem to discuss was the Earl of Arundel’s impending nuptials – and who the lucky lady might be. 

Only the three vampires had any inkling of her feelings, their being aware of the master vampire’s claim, but they were hard-pressed to comfort the girl because, to the humans present, she was just his ward, albeit one of a marriageable age. So, Elizabeth smiled when she was supposed to and answered truthfully, if somewhat somberly that no, she wasn’t aware of who his intended might be. 

A few hours later, her guests finally left. Lady Celeste stopped before exiting and invited her to an early dinner party her father, the Duke of Rutherford, was having for a few close friends. Elizabeth, unsure about attending, hesitated a moment in answering, and it was her chaperone that replied that they would be there. The young girl looked relieved at her acceptance before hurrying down the steps, her own chaperone by her side since her brother had been unavailable to escort her. 

Elizabeth turned towards Mrs. Rothworth and asked, “Do you think that’s wise? Didn’t my guardian want us to stay home?” 

Mrs. Rothworth chuckled before grinning like a Cheshire cat. “My dear, he only said while he was gone. He’s back now. Plus, he only preferred that we stay home, not that we must. Besides, we need to whet the ton’s appetite for you and an intimate dinner party will be just the thing.” 

Still unsure, but bowing to the older woman’s wisdom, Elizabeth nodded. Then, telling the other that she was going to lie down for a while, she quickly fled up the stairs to wallow in the misery of her vampire lover’s impending marriage.

The news of her guardian’s return tore at her heart; already he was distancing himself from her, as he’d not come to her upon his return.

Mrs. Rothworth watched the young girl leave and she felt a moment of sadness. Being human, her charge was unused to the ways of vampires. It wasn’t uncommon for vampires to take several lovers, except in the rare instance of a dual claiming – and even then, monogamy wasn’t a guarantee. The girl didn’t realize that just because her guardian was getting married didn’t mean that he wouldn’t still come to her – she was his to do with as he wanted. His claim on her saw to that. She just worried about how the girl was going to respond; she’d already argued about the master vampire being hers, and she could see where the girl was coming from. In the short time she’d been around Elizabeth, she’d come to enjoy her wit and childlike innocence – so rare in her experience nowadays. She’d hate to see the girl punished over something so contrived as a bit of jealousy. Although, with the peculiarities the master vampire exhibited, who’s to say that he would actually punish the girl for not being aware of her place? 

Shoving those thoughts aside, she sought her own room. She, also, could do with a nap, as this was normally the time when she would sleep. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

The sun had just set when the two women left the townhouse for the short ride to the Duke of Rutherford’s dinner party. When they arrived, the coachman pulled to a halt to allow the Duke’s servants to open the coach doors and assist the women to the ground. Elizabeth was taken aback by the amount of carriages lining the drive. 

“I thought it was supposed to be a small gathering,” she whispered in an aside to her chaperone as the two made their way towards the front door. 

“Child, he’s a Duke. Fifty people is a small gathering to him.” 

“Maybe we should go back. I’m not ready— I don’t know—” she paused in her steps, uncertain. 

“Now, none of that. You look lovely and you’re going to astound them with your grace and poise – both human and vampire alike. I’ll keep the masses away with my overbearing duenna act so that they can look but not touch.” 

Realizing she had no choice in the matter, Elizabeth allowed herself to be led inside. She smiled somewhat when she saw Lady Celeste waiting for her, and nearly breathed a sigh of relief when the girl rushed over, grabbed her hand, and pulled her away from the throng of people gathered near the entrance. 

“I’m so glad you came, Elizabeth,” the girl exclaimed once the two were alone. “My brother got out of attending and I’m probably the only one here not over two score years. If you hadn’t come, I would have been bored to near tears!” 

“Well, I’m glad I could keep you from boredom,” Elizabeth responded before the two dissolved into giggles, momentarily forgetting her upset in the other girl’s presence. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike woke two hours after the Slayer left – the excessive amounts of alcohol he’d consumed and the short amounts of sleep he’d been getting since being thrust into this time period had tapped his reserves until his body had shut down in protest. He lay in bed, unmoving for a moment, as he waited for the drums banging around in his head to quiet. Groaning quietly, he vowed – not for the first time – to never get quite that drunk again. 

Once the pain subsided somewhat, his other senses kicked in, and he inhaled deeply as the scent of free blood filled his nostrils. He turned slowly to his right and nearly licked his lips as he eyed the glass filled to the rim resting on his nightstand. A shaky hand reached out to grab the drink, bringing it to his lips to down the contents in one long gulp. 

His bloodlust momentarily slaked, Spike climbed out of bed. His nude body glistened in the firelight, the taut muscles rippled along his legs and ass as he made his way toward the bath beckoning in the corner. With a grateful sigh, he slid down in the heated water until his head was able to rest upon the ledge; his eyes closed in pleasure as the hot water heated his skin. A reluctant smile graced his lips when he realized that soon he’d have the Slayer’s body to keep him warm as he slept. 

Finished with his toilette and with the water now starting to cool, he reluctantly pulled himself up and out of the tub and snagged the towel from a nearby chair. His manservant still hadn’t shown himself, having been told in no uncertain terms that he was more than capable of bathing and dressing himself. When Travis had started to object, sensing that he was about to lose his position, Spike had relented and told him that he could still have everything prepared and laid out for him. His servant agreed wholeheartedly, once more secure in his place within the household, and the two had settled into a routine. 

Finally dressed, Spike let himself out of his room and made his way to his study. As he passed by the room he had given Doyle, he grimaced when he realized he couldn’t hear him still inside; he’d probably never hear the end of it. But to his credit, he’d drunk far more and bet he’d had far less sleep than the other these last few days. 

Spike stepped inside his private sanctuary and felt better when he saw Doyle’s condition. Although freshly bathed and dressed, Doyle still looked worse for wear after his drinking binge. He was reclined, somewhat, on the chaise lounge situated near the fireplace holding a drink in his hand. Spike watched as Doyle took small sips from the liquid as if fearing that the contents might not stay in his unsettled stomach. Chuckling, he fixed himself his own drink and took a seat behind his desk. 

“Remind me to never drink with you again,” Doyle groaned. “Just kill me please.” 

“Killing you would end your suffering, and ‘m evil, remember?” 

“Fuck you, Spike.” 

Spike cocked his eyebrow at that remark. 

“What?” Doyle remarked at the other’s astonished look. “Oh please. You’re not going to kill me and you know it. You like having me around.” 

“Look. Just because we shared a few drinks—” 

“Oh, stuff it.” In too much misery to care about the vampire’s protestations, Doyle cut him off. His head was pounding unmercifully and he’d spent the past hour dry-heaving so that there was absolutely nothing left in his stomach. Truth be told, he actually liked the vampire; he had a wicked sense of humor, even if it was a tad on the macabre side, and he could play a mean game of chess. And for all his outlandish pre time-travel attire, the vampire could speak intelligently on any number of topics. “You know I’m right. It’s probably why the damn Powers have kept me here.” 

Spike refused to agree with Doyle even if he _was_ right. Ignoring the comment, he changed the topic to his forthcoming nuptials. 

“We’re gonna have to do something about her parents,” Spike commented. 

The abrupt change of topic momentarily confused Doyle causing him to just utter, “huh?” 

“Her parents, you git. If she agrees— _when_ she agrees to marry me, she’s gonna want her parents here.”

“Oh hell.”

“Yeah. We’re gonna hafta’ tell her something. That can be your job.” 

“Wha—? My job? Why does it have to be _my_ job?” Doyle whined. 

“Because, it’ll be my job to comfort her afterwards when you inevitably fuck it up.” 

“Gee, thanks! Wait— so, what am I going to tell her?” 

“I don’t know. Ask your bloody Powers; they seem to have all the answers thus far.” 

“Yeah, right.” 

“Come on, it’s getting late; I’m sure dinner is about to be served. You can say hello to the Slayer and meet her chaperone.” 

Doyle looked a little green around the gills at the mention of food, but managed to pull himself to his feet nonetheless. Maybe he would just smell it, rather than eat it. Right now, he didn’t think his stomach could handle anything but the small sips of brandy he’d been consuming for the past hour or so. 

Upon walking into the formal dining room, Spike was surprised to see only two places set at the rather long table. Figuring Cook didn’t realize he’d returned – although it seemed highly unlikely given the gossipy nature of the staff – he told Doyle to take a seat while he walked towards the door leading into the kitchen. 

Mrs. Wadsworth, the cook who’d followed him to the city, gasped slightly at having her domain suddenly invaded by Lord Arundel. 

“I see there are only two place settings on the table, Mrs. Wadsworth. Did word not reach you that I’d returned?” 

“Oh, yes, m’lord. That’s why there are two place settings.” 

“I’m not following.” 

“Your ward and her chaperone left for the Duke of Rutherford’s small dinner party about two hours ago. I knew you and your guest would be wantin’ to eat, so I cooked up something special just for you two.” 

Spike didn’t say anything, just turned around on his heels and left the spacious kitchen. Out of range of the cook, he let his temper get the best of him, causing Doyle to react as his demon momentarily sprung forth. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Doyle asked. He’d yet to see the master vampire truly angry, having taken off before seeing Spike’s reaction to his pronouncement that he’d be stuck in the past for a while, so he was somewhat scared. For the life of him, Doyle couldn’t figure out what Spike would be so furious about – and there was no doubt the vampire was mad, stalking to his chair with barely concealed rage, the muscles in his neck pronounced as he clenched his teeth together. 

“Nothing that won’t be dealt with once they return,” Spike ground out.


	17. Chapter 17

Elizabeth spent most of the early evening in the company of Lady Celeste. She was glad she’d come even if her heart wasn’t really into having fun. After hearing the gossip of her guardian’s forthcoming nuptials, she’d wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball on her bed and cry herself to sleep. William’s absence the day before just made hearing the news even that much harder to bear. She wished he was here so that he could tell her it wasn’t true, that he wasn’t planning on marrying some nameless chit of exceptional breeding and beauty. 

It wasn’t like he was going to marry her, the unwanted ward of modest nobility. He’d not even wanted to be her guardian, was only persuaded by the Viscount when she’d found herself alone and away from her family. 

_Her family._

Maybe he’d found them, and now free from his burden, could busy himself with getting on with his life. Who knew, after today, she’d probably no longer be staying at his home. No longer need the vampire chaperone he’d provided. 

After the recent revelation that vampires walked among the ton like ordinary creatures, she didn’t think she’d be able to stay in London. Maybe her parents would swoop in, reclaim their daughter whilst thanking the earl for his generosity, and then whisk her away, back to the countryside where she felt most comfortable. 

True, she’d made several friends here – all with lineage much more noble than her own – but she couldn’t face seeing them again and perchance running into her guardian and his soon-to-be wife at the functions they’d both, no doubt, receive invitations. 

Better to go back to her safe world. In the country. Away from the fast-paced city that boasted of vampires in its midst. 

Elizabeth gasped in sudden dismay as the bite mark on her neck erupted with invisible tingles, then nearly staggered as a wave of rage washed over her small frame. Unlike the unconscious calling the earl had sent before, this feeling – this overwhelming anger – seemed generated towards her. She needed to find her chaperone and make her apologies; she needed to get home. 

Home. 

Why was it that _that_ was the term that sprang to mind? The earl’s townhouse wasn’t her home; it was just a temporary arrangement until her parents were located. If she didn’t start remembering that, and soon, then she was going to be distraught when she finally did leave.

~*~*~*~*~

Mrs. Rothworth took one look at her charge as she approached and knew immediately that there was something wrong. Making her excuses to her host, she called for their cloaks and settled the trembling girl in the carriage then made haste back to the earl’s townhouse. 

Thankfully, the roads were fairly deserted and the two pulled up not ten minutes after exiting the Duke’s residence. 

As they stepped down, Elizabeth clung to her chaperone, feeling decidedly weak-kneed at the feelings of rage running rampant throughout her body. 

“What’s happening to me?” she whimpered, barely able to support her own weight. “I can feel him… he’s so angry.” 

“It’s my fault, Elizabeth, and I’ll take the brunt of his anger from you. After all, I was the one that decided to accept the invitation, so I’ll be the one to suffer the consequences.” 

The elder woman’s hand reached over to brush a soothing touch across her charge’s cheek. She’d let the status of being this claimed girl’s chaperone go to her head and now she’d have to face whatever punishment the master vampire deemed fit. And if the trembling girl’s drawn features were any indication, angry didn’t even begin to describe the earl’s temperament. 

As the two stepped inside, she was proven right. The earl was standing alone near the end of the entryway. The place was deserted of servants – probably advised by the former to make themselves scarce. The vacant room wasn’t the indication of his mood, however. It was the vamped features and the coiled tension that permeated the other’s countenance that gave his true feelings away. 

Leaning down, Mrs. Rothworth shooed her charge off to her room with instructions to have her maid prepare her for bed. She just prayed whatever rage Lord Arundel was exhibiting diminished before he sought out the girl. 

Demon eyes followed the Slayer’s retreat until she’d reached the top of the staircase and disappeared from sight. Then, they locked on her, and she suppressed the shiver of fear that had suddenly gripped her body. The demon in her quaked in apprehension as the master vampire pushed himself away from the wall with a lazy grace and slowly stalked towards her. 

As soon as he reached her, his arm shot out and gripped her neck, easily lifting her several feet in the air. 

“This must be the Slayer’s chaperone,” a voice drolled from behind them. 

“Bloody hell, Doyle, not now,” Spike growled, eyes never leaving the frightened facial features of the vampiress held suspended from his grasp. 

“Slayer?” the woman gasped. 

“Figure of speech. Bloke’s a Bracken demon and they think they’re bloody comedians. Havin’ a spot ‘o fun at my expense,” he replied, referring to the wedding he and the Slayer were soon to be having. He shook off his demonic features, blue eyes narrowing on Mrs. Rothworth as he set her back on her feet and removed his hand from her neck – while speaking over his shoulder to Doyle. “Tell the lady here what a kidder you are.”

Doyle, realizing his blunder, straightened away from the study’s doorjamb as the two vampires made their way towards him to afford the threesome more privacy as they spoke. 

“Lord Frances Doyle, Viscount Tellidyne,” Doyle announced by way of introduction. “And, he’s right… although, I am known the world over for my comedic value, I’ll have you know. So, where is the chit?” the half-breed asked as he settled himself in a chair in front of Spike’s desk next to Mrs. Rothworth while Spike walked around and sat behind his desk. 

“Upstairs…” Spike growled. 

“In bed, probably crying her eyes out…” Mrs. Rothworth replied honestly. 

The two spoke at once. 

“This keeps getting better and better,” Doyle responded after a quick glance at Spike. “Whatever has happened to distress the girl so?” 

Spike saw the Doyle’s look and snorted. “Don’t look at me. I haven’t seen her in two days. Remember? And, you should know since you were with me.” 

The two males glanced at Mrs. Rothworth – causing her to squirm uncomfortably in her seat – waiting for her to respond. 

“We had a small intimate gathering here, earlier today. Just a few acquaintances from Lady Haversham’s tea party. Unfortunately, the topic of discussion didn’t center on gowns and the Duke of Sevring’s forthcoming ball. Instead, the tale that made its way around the room was the earl’s forthcoming nuptials.” 

She paused at the master vampire’s “bloody hell” followed shortly by the other demon’s laughter. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“’s not funny,” Spike muttered as he glared at Doyle, who didn’t look like he was going to wind down anytime soon. With a look of disgust at the other man, he excused Mrs. Rothworth to seek her dinner. 

Mrs. Rothworth made haste leaving the Lord Arundel’s study, not wanting to call attention to her disobedience of earlier. She thought she was in the clear until his words halted her hand upon the doorknob. 

“Disobey me again like that, and your back will forever be bathed in red,” Spike promised softly, yet the calm way with which the words were spoken brought chills to her spine. 

She looked over her shoulder, nodding, before quickly departing the room. 

“Would you really?” Doyle asked him, sobering from his amusement. 

“Bloody well right I would! Can’t have these younger vamps thinking they can be disobedient to a master vampire. I’m cutting her a little slack because I don’t want to fuck up my chances of getting home. But if we were back in my time, she’d be dust right now for what she pulled.” 

Just thinking about Mrs. Rothworth’s blatant disregard for his orders had Spike fuming again – so much so, that he almost got up and went after her.

The news that the Slayer was aware of his impending marriage didn’t sit well with him. Mrs. Rothworth was right. She was upstairs crying her eyes out. Had been for the last hour they’d been talking. A small part of him wanted to rush upstairs and comfort the girl, reassure the Slayer that he planned to marry her. 

Which was exactly why he didn’t move. 

He didn’t like the direction these feelings of his were taking. She was a means to an end, and if he had to constantly remind himself of that fact, so be it. 

_‘I’ll not cater to the Slayer’s emotions like some poncey git my poof of a grandsire turned out to be.’_

Instead, he sat with Doyle in his study, playing poker and making plans. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Upstairs, Elizabeth wept softly as the finality of the earl’s marriage hit her. 

She’d stayed awake, believing he’d come to her, reassuring her that the rumors were just that – rumors. That he was going to keep her like he’d said. But as the lateness of the night progressed with no sign of her vampire, the last thread of hope snapped, causing her to fall towards an uncertain future. 

Heart broken, she cried herself to sleep. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

In the study, Spike sat back, the tension easing from his tightly coiled body when he heard the Slayer’s cries stop as she finally drifted off to sleep. Unable to concentrate on the card game he was playing with the girl’s ragged weeping, he’d steadily lost his money to Doyle until he’d just about stomped away from the table in frustration. 

Doyle, the bloody bastard, had taken full advantage – even bluffing with a pair of twos while he’d sported a flush. At that point, Spike was well and truly ready to eat him. 

“Finally go to sleep, did she?” Doyle asked, watching Spike relax back into his seat. 

Spike growled a response, at which the other laughed heartily. 

“Face it, Spike. You’re starting to care about the girl.” 

“’m not. Take that back _right_ now!” 

“Ya know, now that I think about it, I think the Powers were right all along. They’ve got you pegged. Maybe you were meant to slip back in time, for reasons unknown. Maybe that’s why you cornered the Slayer when you did. Did you ever think of that?” 

“No, and if you want to keep your head on your shoulders, you’ll drop it!” 

“Fine. But I’m just saying…” 

“Well, don’t.” 

They stayed in the study playing cards until late into the night, neither wanting to brave the club – Spike, because of the apparent leak in his forthcoming marriage; Doyle, because without Spike with him, he really didn’t want to venture out alone. When Doyle began yawning into his cards in the early morning hours, Spike called a halt to their play and sent the other off to bed. 

Still locked within his private space, Spike walked around the room for a bit, trying to work off some nervous energy – warring with himself about whether or not to go upstairs. He scanned the rows of books hoping for something to catch his eye and take his mind off the slumbering girl resting a floor above him. Doyle’s words played over in his mind, but Spike refused to give credence to his hypothesis by going upstairs. 

Because if Spike climbed the staircase, he wouldn’t be going to his room. He’d be going to hers. 

So he paced the confines of his self-enforced prison, back and forth like a kept lion that prowls the length of its cage – desperate not to give in to his need to see her. His demonic countenance faded in and out as he debated the situation, until with a growl he vaulted over the chair that happened to be in his path on his way to the door. 

Spike practically ripped the door off the hinges in his haste to exit the room. A burst of speed saw him to the base of the staircase and his eyes lifted upward as if he could see her from where he stood. 

_“Face it, Spike. You’re starting to care about the girl.”_

Doyle’s words taunted him. 

With a savage snarl, he whirled away from the stairs and stormed off into the night.


	18. Chapter 18

He had no destination in mind as he flew out the front door and down the walk. He only knew that he needed to put as much distance between himself and the Slayer before he did something stupid – like apologize. The city was quiet in the predawn hours, most people either currently ensconced at some party or such, or tucked away in their beds, sleeping the sleep of babes. The town proper was nowhere he wanted to be. He had frustrations to work off and the peaceful quiet currently surrounding him wasn’t helping his plans at taking his mind off his troubles. 

The Slayer. She was trouble in capital letters. Making him soften towards her, making him practically deny what he was, so much so, that he’d started to look forward to this marriage of theirs. Was opening himself up to her feelings and wanting to see her happy. 

Too bad it was an illusion. Right now, sure, she was all with the lovey dovey. But as soon as her memories came back, he’d be dealing with one brassed-off Slayer, one that would throw stakes first and ask questions later. It was probably one of the reasons he’d tried to maintain his distance. He didn’t want to open himself up to her rejection. 

And, what the hell…? 

He was doing it again. 

He would _not_ feel for the girl. Would not allow her soft eyes and pliant form sway him from his purpose. She was a means to an end, and he would do well to remember that. He had to stop thinking with his prick and concentrate more on the matter at hand. 

Use her until he needed to lose her. That was the way he needed to be. 

He was William the Bloody. Slayer of Slayers. He’d bide his time until he was back home and then finish what he’d started in that abandoned warehouse before being sucked back into this mess. 

At least that’s what he told himself as he hurried off into the night to seek some type of distraction before the sun came up. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike wasn’t surprised when he found himself down near the docks. If one was looking for a little action, the seedy bars and strumpets eyeing their next potential customer were definitely the place to be – it was the three “F’s” that would appease his demon. 

Fighting, fucking, and food. 

A sinister grin played over his lips as he took in the various commotions going on all around him. A movement off to the right caught his attention and he started in that direction. He stepped into the alley, his vampiric features quickly sliding to the fore to better able him to watch the proceedings. 

Two fledglings – very young judging by their amateurish attempts at subduing their prey – struggled to feed on two barmaids while simultaneously trying to silence their screams. The only thing the two had going for them was the fact that screams in this part of town were commonplace and rarely, if ever, fretted over. 

Disgusted with their lack of finesse, and reminded once more of his own frustrations of which he needed to rid himself, Spike slipped out of the alley and ducked into one of the seedier bars. The raucous sounds of a brawl had piqued his interest, and he swaggered inside, quickly ducking the drunken punch aimed his way. He crowed in delight, taking off his coat to avoid getting it torn before joining the fray. 

All around him the sights and sounds encouraged his demon. Chairs broken over bodies. Empty bottles shattered and used as weapons. The smell of human blood upon the air was like the finest wine, and he licked his lips in anticipation. Not yet, but soon. Right now, he needed to pummel with his fists to release the pent up energy that had gripped his being upon finding out that he’d been disobeyed. He wanted to rail against the fates that were tightening the noose about his neck and forcing him to wed the Slayer. If he couldn’t fight with her, the least he could do was take out his aggression on some unsuspecting drunken sailors. 

He even pulled his punches to make the fight last longer than it should have. Spike was in his element, even if his opponents were sadly outclassed. He didn’t care. The demon was appeased. 

When his latest punch sent the last of the bar’s inhabitants to the floor in a drunken heap to move no more, Spike stood and straightened his clothes. His shirt had come untucked and he hastily set himself to rights and ambled over the bodies littering the floor to get a pint of ale. He was about to get his own cup when he sensed a movement, then watched as the bartender gained his feet and shakily asked him for his order. 

A mug was placed in front of him and Spike quickly swallowed the watered-down contents as he turned to survey his handiwork. His eyes scanned over the masses trying to find the worst off of the lot as barmaids reappeared and attempted to put the room back in order. They cast looks his way, impressed that he’d managed to come out on top seeing how he wasn’t the largest of men. The bolder ones eyed his expensive clothes and cock-sure attitude and entertained thoughts of a tumble… or two. 

His head cocked to the side, his tongue automatically curling behind his teeth as he assessed the second – and possibly third – “F” on his agenda for tonight. A lusty blonde caught his attention and he gave her a pointed stare and gestured with his head towards the stairs. She put down her tray, whispered something to the girl beside her, and moved off towards her room above the bar. 

Spike walked over to his coat and retrieved it from the chair he’d placed it earlier. His hand delved into an inner pocket and pulled out a bag of coin, enough to cover the ale and the damages made in the bar. 

The barkeep eyed the bag, heard the click of several coins, and his wide-eyed expression filled with shock that the lord would deem to pay for the various tables and chairs that had been destroyed during the fight. When the first punch had been thrown, he’d crouched behind the bar and lamented about how he’d pay for the latest round of damages done to his place. 

“For your trouble,” Spike told him before moving off to follow the girl. 

“Er…thank you, m’lord!” he gushed, and hurriedly pocketed the money in case any of his customers decided to wake from their drunken slumber. 

Spike nodded and moved off. It was time to pay the girl upstairs a visit.

~*~*~*~*~

Halfway up the stairs he stopped. He ignored the hazel eyes that seemed to haunt him, vigorously shaking his head as if to dispel the images. One way or another he was going to break the hold the Slayer seemed to exert over him. Better to take his pleasures wherever and whenever he wanted – and if it happened not to be the petite brunette, so be it. 

He was evil, and it was time for him to remind himself of that fact. 

He started back up the stairs, using the aroused scent of the barmaid as a guide. He’d lose himself between her legs then finish her off as a nice snack. Prove to those Powers wanting to manipulate him that he was evil to the core, lest they forget. Show them how much he hated to be made to act the puppet. 

Faint sounds came to him as he paused before her door. He could hear the chit’s accelerated heartbeat, could smell the arousal perfuming the air as she moved about the room. The door had been left ajar and he pushed it all the way open so that he could see inside. He must have scared her – he was a lot quieter than the drunken louts that normally sought her favors – if her startled gasp was any indication. But it quickly fled as she assessed his lean frame, her features taking on a more purposeful veneer. 

She crossed the room towards where he stood framed in the open doorway. The exaggerated sway of her hips did nothing for him. The hungry look in her eyes paled in comparison to another. He found himself ignoring the willing creature before him as a petite figure superimposed itself over the barmaid. Dry, mousy hair giving way to soft, glimmering locks that cascaded down her back. Pale arms lifted and pulled the hair up and away from her neck, and all Spike could see was the marks upon her neck. His marks. 

Shaking his head to dispel the vision, he glanced down at the woman before him. She’d lifted her hair, jutting out her chest to display her bosom to his gaze. But she wasn’t what he wanted, wasn’t what his demon craved. Disgusted with himself, he threw a few coins her way and stalked off. 

He didn’t know what was happening to him, but he didn’t want to settle for a substitute when he could have the real thing. There was no reason to deny himself the use of the Slayer’s body, other than spite. 

The bar was quickly left behind as he hailed a hack for the return trip home. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

He could feel the demon raging inside and the carriage had no sooner slowed to a halt before his townhouse than he was out the door, flicking a few coins at the driver, and racing up the steps. The only thing his brain seemed to focus on was the marks permanently etched upon her neck. 

His marks. His Slayer. His. 

The door opened as if by magic as he neared and he grunted at the “Good Evening, m’lord” intoned his way. He took the stairs two and three at a time, the servant forgotten as chants of “mine, mine, mine” played cadence to his stride. Now that he’d returned, now that he’d decided to have the Slayer, he was impatient to re-stake his claim. 

Feet moving at a brisk pace, he bypassed Doyle’s room on the way to the master suite. All lay quiet within but he wanted to divest himself of the various trappings of his station. Wearing just his white, billowing shirt, that hung open from neck to hem exposing his pale skin for anyone to see, and his breeches, he slipped from his room; his bare feet made no sound on the carpeted floor as he rushed towards the Slayer’s bedroom. 

He could make out her ragged breath as he neared, as if she’d been crying – which she had – for hours on end and had fallen into a fitful sleep. The knob made no sound as he turned it and slipped inside. His eyes immediately sought her out, a small huddled form lying in a ball in the center of the huge bed. She was turned away from his gaze, but he knew her face was probably swollen from her crying. 

He didn’t care. 

He didn’t. 

He was just here to reassert his claim with cock and fangs, spend himself deep within her body, so that he could sleep for a few hours. 

He was. 

Spike stalked towards the bed, removing his shirt and pants and tossing them onto a chair. He threw back the bedcovers – they would only get in the way and end up on the floor – and climbed onto the bed. She hadn’t moved from her tightly curled position, didn’t sense the danger that slowly stalked her. 

In a matter of moments, the Slayer lay bare to his gaze, her nightshift lifted over her body and discarded like so much garbage. She twitched fitfully in her sleep as the cool air of the room brushed over her naked limbs, and she tried to huddle even tighter into herself. 

He was having none of that. 

Grabbing her legs, he wrenched them apart and buried his face in her flavorful musk. His tongue licked a path along her slit, delighting at the tangy nectar that flooded his mouth. The semi-hard erection he’d sported since leaving the barmaid came to life as he buried his tongue between her folds. 

She tasted like a slice of heaven, and he eagerly lapped at her center. He heard her moans, felt the restlessness of her body, and knew she was waking. 

The demon’s lust had overtaken his body. He needed to have her. Bury his cock deep inside her and feel her inner walls sheath his length in velvety fire. 

Spike pulled his head away from her mound and surged up her body and buried himself deep within her pussy. Her eyes flew open, jolted awake at the near painful invasion. Her body relaxed when she realized it was him. Her vampire lover. The tension in her face eased, even though he never stopped his relentless pace, driving into her as if he could exorcise the voices in his head that taunted him for his weakness, his softening nature. 

Her arms moved to hold him close, but he easily pinned them with one of his hands, denying her. He didn’t want to feel, didn’t want to care. Just wanted to use her body because it was his. His. His canines elongated, the ridges above his brow became pronounced, and his amber gaze watched the Slayer beneath him. 

There was nothing gentle in this possession. His intent was to mark. When he heard his name float over him, he struck. Buried his fangs in the mark he’d placed upon her neck, painfully so. He heard her gasp in pain, but then nothing else. She made no move to throw him off, readily submitted to his dominance… 

Because she was his. Was telling him so with her body, in the only way she knew how. By lying docilely in his arms. Trusting him. Letting him do with her as he will. 

And, just like that, his demon was appeased. 

His movements stilled and he lay flush against her body. The punishing grip on her wrists fell away to grip the back of her neck and hold her close. He felt her hesitate about holding him again, but when her hands finally started kneading his bare back, he purred his delight into her throat. He’d stopped sucking her blood the moment his movements had stilled, but he couldn’t bring himself to release her just yet. Her sighs said she didn’t seem to mind either. She actually tried to wheedle her way closer so that his fangs would sink deeper. The rumble in his throat got louder. 

She tasted so good, his Slayer. He could get drunk off the taste of her. 

The throbbing in his cock made its presence known. He needed release, and soon. His hips twitched involuntarily and he began to move. Slowly at first, until he felt her legs shift wider before they lifted and wrapped around his back. He removed his fangs from her neck as his pace increased, blood dribbled down his chin to collect on her chest. His tongue licked across her flesh, cleaning the trail, then flicked over one distended nipple before sucking it into his mouth. Her back arched off the bed, causing his fangs to puncture her soft flesh. 

Elizabeth’s eyes widened at the new bite, it wasn’t deep, it was just the first time he’d bitten her there, and she found she liked it. A lot. 

Spike released her breast from his shallow bite so that he could flick and tease the other. The dots of crimson welled up slightly and some of the holes oozed blood down onto her puckered nipple. He was torn between wanting to return to it so that he could lick up the stray spots of blood, or let them bleed and attend to the other. 

His movements stilled as he contemplated, and Elizabeth thought she’d die if he didn’t start moving again. 

“Please, William,” she begged, her body writhing beneath his to increase the friction against her swollen clit. “I need…” 

She clutched at him, her nails digging into his skin. Suddenly, he surged back into her, and her nails scored down his back, drawing his own blood. 

Spike’s demon loved it. 

The scent of their blood combined in the air and his eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he inhaled deeply. His pace increased as he thrust into her, his pants mimicking her own. He could feel her body tense as she neared orgasm. She keened her delight as he ravaged her body, her arms and legs tightened further, locking him in place above her. 

He watched the emotions play across her face. Knew the moment he hit her spot when she bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming. But Spike was determined to make her scream. At least for him. He angled his hips so that his cock hit it over and over again. Felt the moment when the sensation became too much and she climaxed around him. 

Her inner walls tightened around his shaft, the clenching motion quickly bringing him off. He buried his fangs back into the open holes on her neck, taking a deep draw of her blood as his own climax consumed him.

Exhausted from her earlier weeping and her guardian’s vigorous lovemaking, Elizabeth’s limbs fell limply to her sides. Her eyes closed as she breathed deeply to calm her erratic heartbeat. She felt him shift and move off her, and if she weren’t so tired, she would have cried out in anguish that he was leaving her already. Then she felt his arms draw her close and she nearly purred in contentment as she drifted back to sleep. 

The thought of him marrying another never invaded her dreams.


	19. Chapter 19

The days flew by in a blur for Elizabeth until the day of the Duke of Sevring’s ball arrived – her formal coming out. She’d yet to really speak with her guardian and wasn’t quite sure where she stood with him. Whispered rumors continued to abound about the earl’s marriage, speculation as to the identity of his intended rushed through the ton like wildfire. But as yet, no name had been forthcoming. 

It didn’t help matters that the earl was tightlipped about the subject and any questions directed his way were met with a glare and a growl. 

Elizabeth found her melancholy growing, only relieved somewhat when her guardian continued his nocturnal visits. Since that time he’d been so rough with her, she had noticed a subtle change in his persona, and a bright blush stained her cheeks as the more graphic stunts of his sometimes near-savage lovemaking flashed before her eyes. It was a wonder she could even move afterwards during one of his more aggressive sessions. 

The nicks and cuts on her flesh were a testament to the violence he sometimes exhibited, which only seemed to heighten their encounter. Yet, when she woke on the morrow, the cuts had faded, leaving no sign of the minor injuries. Add that to the fact he practically ignored her existence during the day, and well, her emotions were strung tight, just waiting to explode. 

Now, as she reclined in her chair in the sitting room in the late afternoon hours, her chaperone having retired for a light nap – of which she’d advised her charge to take – Elizabeth stared at the book perched on her lap, staring unseen at the text. A sudden movement at the door caused her to look up, and she came to her feet as the Viscount walked into the room. 

“Lord Doyle,” she greeted, sinking into a graceful curtsey. 

“Lady Summers,” he replied, affecting a quick bow. “I didn’t realize someone was in here. Shouldn’t you be resting for tonight’s ball? Don’t want to fall asleep mid-waltz, do you?” 

Elizabeth sank back onto her chair, discarding the book she held in her hand on a side table. 

“I will… it’s just, I was reading for a bit first.” 

“Can’t sleep?” 

“No… it’s just… nothing. Never mind. I’m sorry to have troubled you. I’ll retire to my room now,” she told him, coming to her feet to make her exit. 

“Elizabeth?” 

She stood poised before the door, hand on the knob to let herself out, when the Viscount called her name. She glanced over her shoulder to gaze at the man a silent question on her delicate features. 

“Everything is going to be alright. You’ll see… Now get some rest, you’re going to need it for tonight.” 

She nodded, not saying anything and slipped quietly from the room. 

Doyle glanced at the closed door and sighed. Not telling Elizabeth about her forthcoming nuptials had been Spike’s idea. Personally, he thought they should have told her before now. Just looking at her, one could tell she was unhappy. Having her subjected to the speculative gossip about her guardian’s marriage had left a strain on her. Her features were drawn and there was a resigned air about her that didn’t sit well with him. 

He knew Spike’s waiting to tell the chit was going to bite him in the ass, but he’d gone along with the other’s plan. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Elizabeth stepped inside her room and leaned against the closed door, a dejected sigh escaping her slightly parted lips. 

“What’s the matter, Elizabeth?” 

She nearly jumped out of her skin as his words floated to her. Her eyes widened to comical proportions as she took in the reclined form of her guardian spread out on top of her bedcovers wearing nothing more than a pair of breeches. A hand fluttered over her chest as if to calm her racing heart. 

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, shocked beyond all reason that he’d presented himself in her room in broad daylight making her utter the question aloud. 

She knew she’d made a mistake when his eyes narrowed and a frown appeared and she rushed to placate him. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to question you… it’s just that… well, you’ve never come here during the day.” 

He crooked his finger at her, beckoning her forward. “C’mere,” he whispered huskily. His features had taken on a predatory look, eyes filling with lust as she walked towards him. 

When she stopped before the bed, he lifted his hand using his finger to gesture in a circle for her to turn around. Elizabeth did as he asked, presenting her back to him, and moments later she heard a rustle of movement then cool fingers at the nape of her neck. 

Her breath left her on a sigh as she felt the gown’s fastenings give way and become looser before it slid down her body to pool at her feet. Then the stays of her corset were released until it, too, fell to the floor in a soundless heap. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she felt his gaze roam over her, clad in only her shift. She felt him stand behind her and then she was moving as he guided her towards the end of the bed. 

Spike sat at the foot of the bed and pulled her back towards him. Before them, the mirror reflected her shock and arousal as he slowly divested the Slayer of her undergarments. With her back still to him, he stroked his fingers along her spine, chuckling softly as she arched her body and shuddered at his touch. She was a vision, reflected in the mirror, her hair thrown over her shoulders and cascading down her slim back nearly to her waist. 

His hands appeared nonexistent as he fondled her breasts, flicking and tweaking her nipples while cupping them. One hand stopped kneading her plump breast to travel along the imaginary line down the middle of her body towards the dark curls that protected her mound. Cool fingers ghosted a path along her slit and she unconsciously widened her stance before him to allow him better access. He chuckled softly, pleased by her boldness. 

His eyes watched her in the mirror as he slipped one finger past her folds and into her pussy, pumping it in and out in a lazy pace. She bit her bottom lip to keep from shouting her pleasure to the world. 

“Open your eyes,” he whispered at her side, his hands never stopping the delicious torment. 

He watched as they fluttered open, noticed the glazed look as she stared unseeing.

“Look at the mirror, pet. Watch what my hands do to you. See the pleasure only I can give you,” he coaxed. 

Elizabeth did as he asked and focused on the mirror. 

_Was that her?_

Dear God! What was he doing to her? She looked… she couldn’t quite put into words what she looked like. Flushed face, heavy-lidded eyes, mouth agape. Was that even her? 

She tried to squirm away from his invisible touch, but he held her tight, sensing her resistance. Another finger joined the first inside her and her feeble protests halted as she concentrated on the new sensations flooding her womb. Her hips moved in tandem with his fingers sliding in and out of her until she felt her legs start to give way. 

He was there to catch her. Standing behind her and holding her fevered body back against his bare chest. His hand left her over-sensitized breast and she heard him fumble with the fastenings on his breeches, listened as the soft whoosh sounded indicating their flight down his slim hips. Then, she felt his hardened length press against her lower back. 

She couldn’t believe it was daylight and they were making love like they had no care in the world. She’d not locked her bedroom door and the thought of being discovered only increased her arousal, even if her cheeks got suddenly pinker at the thought. 

“What is it?” he whispered in her ear as he resumed his seat on the edge of the bed and pulled her down onto his lap still facing the mirror. 

“The… the door. I didn’t lock it. Somebody… oh God…” she gasped as she felt a third finger join the first two, stretching her even more. 

“Somebody might what?” he murmured in her ear as he bit gently on the lobe as he sucked it into his mouth, his eyes on the mirror as he watched her respond to him. There was something very erotic about watching her by herself in the mirror, watching as her body responded so willingly to his touch. 

“Might… might… come in…” she responded breathlessly. “Might see…” 

Although by now, she really didn’t care. His thumb had started to make lazy circles over the flesh at the tip of her sex while his three fingers continued their assault, sliding in and out of her, stretching her, preparing her. She felt his other hand slide down one of her legs, urging her to bend her knee and straddle his hips. 

His fingers slipped from her pussy, and before she could protest, he was filling her with his length. He placed his hands on her hips, guiding her movements as he taught her how to ride him, slow and deep, maximizing the sensation. 

“Watch yourself ride me…” 

Elizabeth’s eyes opened and she stared at herself bobbing up and down on the bed as if riding a horse. Only, she’d never derived so much pleasure from that activity as she was now. Tentatively, her hands rose to cup her bouncing breast, flicking her thumbs over her nipples as William had done. 

“That’s it. Imagine it’s my hands on you, my lips sucking those pert nipples into my mouth… feel what it does to you.” 

“William…” 

“Yeah… I feel it. I feel your response rain over my cock as you ride me. Give me more. Harder… Faster….” 

His hands showed her what he wanted, increasing her pace, until the sound of her bare ass slapping against his lap mingled with their grunts and groans. 

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. I’m gonna have you just like this every day. You’ll be mine – mornin’, noon, and night. No one to stop us…” 

“What… about… your wife?” she gasped, the breath nearly knocked from her with each downward thrust on his cock. 

“You’re mine,” he snarled, sinking his fangs into her shoulder. 

Elizabeth cried out as he pierced her flesh, but the noise was swiftly cut off when his hand covered her mouth. Her hips never stopped their frenetic pace while he bit painfully into her shoulder. She saw her blood start a trail down her chest and reacted instinctively, releasing her breast to grip his hand that covered her mouth, pulling it away before striking blindly at his forearm. 

The pain in her shoulder was becoming almost unbearable and she bit harder, her blunt teeth penetrating his skin until she tasted blood. He released her abruptly, his hoarse shout of pleasure filling the room and she felt him flood her womb with his release. She rode him till she felt the throbbing of his cock ease, all the while sucking like a babe at his arm. 

She should be reeling at what she’d done, what she was still doing. Drinking his blood like it was the finest of wine. In truth, it was. It connected her to him, made her his. 

His free arm banded around her stomach and she felt him lay his cheek against her bare back. 

_‘She bit me!’_ Spike thought, attempting to regroup from the most intense orgasm he’d ever felt. He could feel her restless twitching above him and realized with embarrassment that he’d left her behind. Like some teenage sod on his first sexual conquest, he’d spilled his load without any thought to his partner. 

Even though he was evil he wasn’t selfish. 

He eased her off his lap, and settled her on her back. Pulling her towards him until her ass reached the edge, spreading her legs wide. He could smell himself on her and he breathed in deeply before attacking her sensitive nubbin with tongue and teeth, ramming three fingers inside her pussy, curling them so that they brushed across her sweet spot. Her hips bucked off the bed, her fingers fisted into his hair, holding him in place. He alternately flicked and nipped at her clit and watched intently as her head thrashed from side to side on top of the coverlets. 

Spike grew hard once again and he surged to his feet. Fisting his hand around his cock, he teased her entrance with the head for a bit, sliding it up and down along her slit. Without warning, he positioned himself at her opening and pushed his way home. Groaning as her heat enveloped him. He gripped her hips hard, knowing instinctively that there’d be faint marks later, and thrust himself over and over into her slick passage. 

She was gorgeous, his Slayer. Her hair fanned out behind her. Naked breasts bouncing as he drove into her. Her fingers clutched at the sheets, struggling to hold herself in place. She’d bitten her lip again to stop her screams of pleasure. 

Her orgasm caught her unawares, crashing over her as she strained to get him deeper inside her. A maelstrom of sensations gripped her body and she gave herself over to them. But, he wouldn’t let her glide down gently. He continued his bruising pace until a second climax twisted her body, and even then he wouldn’t stop. It was as if he was trying to see how much pleasure her body could take before she passed out from sensory overload. 

Because she’d bitten him and thrown his world for a loop. 

Her third orgasm was mild compared to the others, but the fourth one caused her to lose consciousness. It was only then that Spike gave in to his need to come, allowed her body to milk his release until he collapsed on top of her, his legs no longer able to support him. 

Spike lay there, listened to her breathing for a moment before finding the energy to lift himself off her. He pulled his breeches on and dug a hand into his pocket, pulling out the box tucked inside. 

Fucking the Slayer into unconsciousness hadn’t been part of his plan when he’d uncovered the secret passage leading from his room into this one. He’d wanted to place his ring on her finger before tonight’s ball – marking her as his for the entire ton to see. But when she’d slipped inside her room, he’d realized there was no way he was leaving without having another taste of her. He wanted to see her expression as she came in broad daylight. 

Now that he had, he wanted to see it a lot more often. 

Spike reached over and lifted the sleeping Slayer into his arms and resettled her onto the pillows. She looked so innocent in slumber, and he found himself drawn to her. She wasn’t completely innocent, he reminded himself, staring at the oozing wound on his forearm. 

He still couldn’t believe that she’d bitten him. And hadn’t been put off by the taste. Had actually seemed to enjoy herself while she’d lapped at his blood.

Settling the covers around her, Spike perched his hip on the edge of her bed. He opened the box and pulled the ring from its protective sheath. He’d found the blood red ruby tucked away in his vault. After creating a design on a piece of paper, he’d taken the stone and his drawing to a jeweler and commissioned him to create a betrothal ring, giving the man but a week to finish it. 

Now, as he stared at the finished product, he was pleased with the result. Although he’d never been one for tradition, he’s managed to fashion the Aurelius symbol into the ring’s band, signaling to all that she belonged to their order even though she was human. 

He took her limp left hand and placed the ring on her finger. The fit was perfect and he was pleased with the way it looked on her. He leaned over and brushed his lips across her forehead, then stood and exited the room the way he’d come.


	20. Chapter 20

Heather slipped inside her mistress’ room, pulling the curtains around the bed to shield her from the servants that carried water in for her bath. She picked up the discarded dress and undergarments that littered the floor – which in itself was unusual because her mistress was usually very tidy, even if she was rather strange for sleeping in that which God gave her.

But who was she to judge? She’d been given a posh job, and had a roof over her head and food in her belly. The master seemed agreeable enough, as long as you did your job and minded your business... and didn’t gossip. The housekeeper had quickly explained to her that Lord Arundel was an intensely private man and if anyone was caught gossiping to others outside their home, they would be met with a quick boot and no reference to speak of. Something that didn’t worry Heather in the least. She had no plans on imparting any kind of information about the lord and lady. She liked her job.

After the men had filed out of the room, Heather walked back over to the bed and drew back the protective curtain. She shook her mistress awake, snickering as the girl burrowed deeper in the covers to avoid having to get out of bed.

“Come on, m’lady. It’s time to get ready for the ball,” she coaxed.

Elizabeth groaned deep in the coverlets. She was having such a wonderful dream and didn’t want to wake. Unfortunately, the whining insistence of her maid proved too much; she blinked sleepily and she sat up in bed, clutching the covers tightly to her bosom when she realized she wore nothing beneath them.

“I have your bath already drawn; I’ll leave you to it and will go grab a light tray from the kitchen for you to snack on.”

“Yes… thank you.”

Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief when her maid left and quickly threw off the covers to race behind the screen, embarrassed yet again at being caught without a stitch of clothing on. So worried about her state of undress she didn’t notice the ring on her finger until she’d settled herself into the tub, immersing her shoulders beneath the water.

It was only when she lifted her hands to retrieve the soap that the blood red ruby winked at her. In stark contrast to the pale skin of her fingers, the stone seemed lit from within and burned with a fire barely contained by the gem. She stared agog, tears of happiness falling unheeded down her face to mingle with the bathwater.

“Do you like it, pet?” Spike murmured from his reclined position against the wall beside her.

The water sloshed in the tub as Elizabeth turned around to gape at William. How had he gotten in her room? She hadn’t heard her bedroom door open.

He answered her unspoken question by showing her the small door in the wall that hid the secret passage to his quarters. Tucked behind the screen, no one could see it or him, and it gave her all the impetus she needed to lunge out of the water and throw herself at him.

Spike caught the Slayer as she plastered her wet, nude body against him, peppering his face with kisses as she cried tears of joy. He stilled her movements by gripping the back of her neck, holding her in place so he could ravage her open mouth. His tongue slipped between her lips to duel lightly with hers, and he growled when he felt her timid response. Her wet skin against his bare chest had him entertaining thoughts of burying himself deep within her body yet again. Her eager response indicated she wouldn’t be adverse to more of the same.

Hidden behind the curtain, the two lovers continued their play. Elizabeth dropped her hands from behind his neck and fumbled with the fastenings of his breeches – made more difficult by his drugging kisses. She tugged and pulled until finally they gave way, allowing his cock to spring free from its constrictive bindings. Her fingers grasped his hardness, marveling at the silky feel in something so hard and unyielding.

Spike tore his mouth from her lips and released a guttural moan, thrusting himself in her tightened grip.

“Just like that, love,” he murmured as he pumped himself against her hand.

Elizabeth squeezed harder, until he groaned again, and almost released him when she thought she’d caused him pain. His hand snaked down and wrapped around hers, holding it in place over his burgeoning shaft.

“I’m hurting you…”

“In a good way… grip me harder… ah… yeah… like that, kitten… just like that…”

Elizabeth’s grip remained tight about his cock and Spike removed his own and braced it against the wall behind her. His hips pumped forward causing her fist to slide up and down along his length until she caught on to his movements and took over.

His hands could no longer support his weight against the wall and he was reduced to using both forearms to hold himself steady, his head coming to rest on her shoulder. Her fingers were a delicious torment to his cock, her grip tightening then loosening, her thumb occasionally brushing over the weeping head. Spike didn’t think he could take too much more… only to breathe a sigh of a relief at her softly spoken request.

“Make me yours again, William,” she urged. She couldn’t get enough of him, would never get enough of him.

Spike pressed her back against the wall, then slowly lifted one leg around his hip. Positioning himself at her opening, he thrust deep, sheathing himself within her welcoming body. Her other leg came up to wrap around his hip, locking herself in place, and his hands moved to cup the soft contours of her ass.

Just then, the door to her bedroom opened and he sensed her maid entering.

“I’ve got your tray, m’lady. Do you need help with your bath?”

“Answer her, pet,” Spike whispered in her ear.

“N-no. I’m fine. Just set the tray on the table, and I’ll get to it when I’m finished.”

“Yes, m’lady. I’ll just see to your gown then. Make sure there are no wrinkles.”

“Fine…”

Behind the privacy curtain, Spike thrust himself into the Slayer’s pussy in a slow, lazy pace that was sure to drive her, and him, crazy. But he couldn’t afford for the servant to discover their liaison just yet. God, he couldn’t wait until she was his in name too, so that they could lock themselves within his room for days at a time without fear of discovery. He felt the Slayer panting, could feel her pulse quickening as she neared her climax. Felt her legs stiffen and her grip about his waist tighten, her fingernails no doubt making delicious crescent-shaped marks in his skin.

Elizabeth knew she was going to scream her release. Realizing that it was she that was going to be his wife, had released her inhibitions, and she no longer cared if the servants knew or heard. Her eyes strayed to his – blue that faded to amber as his body became caught up in the act. She nodded at him to let him know she felt the same.

“Mine,” she mouthed before she buried her face in his neck and bit him to keep from keening her pleasure out loud – and alerting the maid to their assignation – her body convulsing around him.

Spike closed his eyes and gave himself over as her inner muscles alternately grasped and released his cock, spilling his seed deep within her womb.

Elizabeth’s grip about his neck tightened until he sagged against her on the wall, his face buried in her neck. She never wanted to let him go.

Spike finally managed to lift his head a few minutes later, and he looked down at the dazed expression of the Slayer. Couldn’t help himself from placing a soft kiss upon her lips. Then he leaned back and silently urged her to release him so that he could set her back in the tub to finish her bath. He pulled his breeches up and fastened them about his hips, kneeling beside the tub so that he could speak softly to her.

“Finish your bath, luv. I’ll see you in a few hours. Oh, and wear your hair up…” he told her, brushing his lips across her brow before slipping from the room via the secret passageway.

Elizabeth sighed happily and leaned back against the tub’s rim, not even caring about the tepidness of the water. Her skin was on fire right now anyway and could do with a bit of cooling off.

A short while later, she called out to Heather to have the girl help her with washing her hair.

~*~*~*~*~

Elizabeth’s hair had been brushed until it was dry, and then styled to William’s specifications. Piled on top of her head, a few stray wisps were left to dangle, framing her face. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she was happy to see no trace of the melancholy that had plagued her earlier in the week. Instead, her hazel eyes shone brightly, secure in the knowledge that she’d soon be married to William. He was probably waiting for her parents to be located to formally ask for her hand, but she refused to remove his ring from her finger. He’d put it there, and there it would stay.

She rose from the sitting chair in front of the vanity, clad in only her undergarments. Now that her hair was complete, she could step into the gown she would be wearing for the Duke’s ball. Flaunting convention yet again, this gown bore a similar pattern to the one she’d worn at the Marchioness’ gathering almost two weeks ago. The lines were simple, yet elegant, and the numerous layers of ruffles that seemed all the rage right now were absent and didn’t swallow up her petite frame. The fitted bodice hugged her cleavage, but rather than having a plunging “v” neckline, the dress’ top dipped low, but in a straight line across her breasts. The material gathered beneath her bosom to fall in a straight line to the floor. The pale pink color was appropriate for an unmarried girl such as herself and went well with her dark hair and slightly sun-kissed skin.

When her maid secured the last stay, Elizabeth rose and walked towards the full-length mirror to eye the results.

“Oh, m’lady, you look simply divine!” Heather gushed.

Elizabeth twirled this way and that to get a better view, and she had to admit, her maid was right. The girl had outdone herself with the elaborate hairstyle, and the dress – while indecently low-cut – was a perfect complement to her tiny frame.

“Thank you, Heather. You did a wonderful job with my hair. I guess I should be off. The others are probably pacing away, waiting for me.”

“I’ll carry your cloak down so that you can show off your dress first.”

Elizabeth turned from the mirror and moved toward the door. She was eager to see William again, having taken great pains with her primping to impress him.

Male voices rose from the foot of the stairs and she paused at the top a moment to gather her skirts so that she wouldn’t trip over them on the way down. Her eyes were cast downward as she carefully made her way to the bottom, therefore failing to see the lust-filled gaze directed her way.

But she sure felt it.

The silence of the others indicated their notice of her, and the sudden tingles that resonated from his mark had Elizabeth wanting to forgo tonight’s party and race back upstairs to spend the rest of the evening in the arms of her lover. When she finally managed to glance up, having reached the bottom of the steps, she noticed that her guardian seemed to have the same idea.

An awkward silence descended over the small group until finally her chaperone broke in with their need to depart.

Spike gazed at the Slayer’s bare neck before realizing he’d left her gift in his study. He excused himself from the others and walked back to the room, pulling the matching necklace from the pouch on his desk and returning to their side. Walking behind the Slayer, he draped the ruby necklace around her neck and fastened it for her.

“I… William… I can’t take this… it’s too much…” she stammered, overcome by her guardian’s generosity, the gorgeousness of the piece.

“Nonsense. Nothing says I can’t buy trinkets for my future bride, is there?”

“N-no… I don’t know what to say… It’s beautiful.”

Beside them, Doyle gaped at the vampire, surprised that he’d finally broken the news to the girl. Why he’d waited this long he’d never know.

From his position behind the Slayer, Spike noticed the half-breed’s look and smirked. Not for the world would he tell him why he’d waited, refusing to be ridiculed as a sap for wanting to have a ring to present the girl. Better to let the other think it was just his snarky nature.

Spike turned away from the Slayer to relieve her maid of his girl’s cloak, resettling it around her shoulders and turning her to face him so that he could fasten it.

“We ready?” he asked the others.

At their answering nods, the butler opened the front door to reveal his waiting carriage, intoning a “Good evening, m’lords, m’lady” as they crossed the threshold and stepped out into the night.


	21. Chapter 21

A steady stream of carriages flowed in front of the Duke of Sevring’s home. His ball was _the_ place to be tonight, and it seemed like every member of the ton was in attendance. Spike’s carriage pulled to a stop in front of the staircase and he quickly let himself out of the coach to assist the Slayer to her feet. 

She placed her hand in his, her smile not having left her face since departing his home for the ball, and she watched as he drew it to his shoulder so that he could grip her about the waist and lower her to the ground, completely bypassing the steps. She looked around her agog, mouth open in wonder as she gazed at the opulence before her, surprised that she was actually attending a Duke’s ball. Behind her, the Viscount and her chaperone alighted from the carriage. 

The four joined the throng of people slowly making their way up the steps to the entrance. Cloaks were quickly discarded as the four walked the short distance to where the butler was intoning their names as the guests stepped into the room. Spike scanned the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the guests in search of the Marquess. He ignored the hushed silence that seemed to descend over those gathered as his name rang out across the room. 

The prodigal son had come home, and everyone was atwitter to see how the meeting between father and son would play out. 

His eyes finally lighted on the Marquess, the people milling about seemed to unconsciously move out of his line of sight to reveal his father, and with a nod of his head to his small entourage, he directed them towards the older man, who stood talking jovially with their host. He figured it was only proper to formally introduce the Slayer to his father, before bedlam erupted when everyone happened to notice his ring upon her finger. 

“Your Grace. Father… May I present my ward, Lady Elizabeth Summers,” he greeted the two men after affecting a stiff bow. His vampiric hearing picked up the hushed whispers of the lesser-known nobles that had no idea as to the identity of his female companion. 

Elizabeth swept into a deep curtsy beside her guardian. 

“Lady Summers, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the Duke of Sevring replied. “Caroline has told me so much about you.” 

“Your Grace,” she murmured. 

Just then, the Marquess noticed the ring sparkling from its place on the girl’s left finger and his eyes took on a happy sheen. 

“I say, William! Is this–?” he began, only to be cut off. 

“Yes! But I haven’t announced anything, and now isn’t the time. Let’s keep it between the two of us, shall we?” 

“Of course, of course! I only wish your mother were still alive to meet her,” he told his son before turning to the petite girl and practically gushing, “Elizabeth, it’s such a pleasure to meet you.” And to the amazement of the hundred plus guests in the room, who were covertly watching the reunion between father and son – if not actually hearing the exchange – with avid interest, the Marquess embraced her like a long lost daughter. 

“I… uh, that is… It’s nice to meet you, as well,” Elizabeth responded, flustered by the older gentleman’s unusual burst of affection. 

“Your Grace, I can trust your discretion in this matter?” Spike asked his host, watching with something akin to amusement as his father practically kissed the Slayer’s hand in gratitude. 

“No one will hear it from me. Although, I can’t speak for my wife once she gets a gander at the girl’s ring. The two have become fast friends these past two weeks and I’m sure Lady Elizabeth is eager to share her good fortune. We’ll need to convince the Duchess that it’s the future husband’s responsibility to post the bans, not hers,” he joked. 

Spike laughed at the other’s jest – well, he hoped it was a jest – and introduced both Doyle and Mrs. Rothworth to the two men, exchanging a few more pleasantries before excusing himself and his small party, claiming he didn’t want to monopolize his host’s time. They nodded their understanding, turning towards one another to continue the discussion they’d been having before Spike and his group had arrived. However, Spike did feel his father’s eyes on his back as he walked off. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

After he got the Slayer seated with a drink, he left her in the care of her chaperone with strict instructions to keep her dance partners limited to the demonic persuasion – they would be the only ones that would notice and respect his claim on the girl. He didn’t fancy getting into a brawl with some of the young bucks that might try to encroach upon his territory. Mrs. Rothworth nodded her understanding, settling in beside her charge, as both the earl and viscount moved off to mingle with some of the other guests. 

Spike glanced over his shoulder once as he walked away, assuring himself that she would be alright with the huge crowd in attendance, then made his way over towards a small circle of men, Doyle hot on his heels. 

Four vampires looked up as they felt Spike approach, their whispered conversation about the “affair” put on hold momentarily. The Marquess of Eaglethorpe, as the oldest vampire of the bunch at forty years, quickly introduced himself and the remaining members of the group. Titles and names were spoken, bows performed, but none of the humans noticed the deference shown Spike as his status of master vampire. 

Standing beside the vampire, Doyle was in awe at how calmly they all spoke about everyday matters as if they didn’t have a vicious demon tucked within their skin. They traded quips between them, discussed servants and holdings, all while nodding pleasantly to the various titled humans as they walked past. It boggled his mind. If he weren’t half demon himself, he’d be hard pressed to think that the five other men standing around him weren’t human. And, he wondered, yet again, what the Powers were up to.

~*~*~*~*~ 

Elizabeth was having a grand time. Secure in the knowledge that it was she that was marrying William – even though he’d yet to formally propose, and considering that she’d been sharing his bed these past weeks, she wasn’t going to push it – she was able to actually enjoy the ball and all of the people she met. Even if she couldn’t keep track of their names. 

“They’ll remember _your_ name, and that’s all that matters,” Mrs. Rothworth whispered to her when she noticed the girl’s pole-axed expression after the last two people departed their company. “If you think it’s bad now… wait until it’s common knowledge you’re the intended bride of Lord Arundel. And it will only get worse once you’re actually married to him.” 

“It’s just so… overwhelming. All these people, and they’re being so nice to me, too.” 

“Yes, well… just beware. Once these human males see that you’re married off, they’ll come out of the woodwork trying to proposition you. You’ll have to be careful. A delicate innocent such as yourself would be no match against their superior strength. And they’ve the nerve to call us the monsters.” 

“I’ll try to remember that.” 

“You do that, Elizabeth. And learn to recognize the vampires in your company. They’ll be the first to come to your aid.” 

Elizabeth nodded at her chaperone. She glanced away to search for her lover in the huge crush, a smile lighting her face when she saw the Marchioness of Haversham, the vampiress who’d held the first intimate gathering she’d been allowed to attend, walking towards her, escorted by a bookish-looking gentleman. Or so she thought until he was up close and personal. He was exceedingly handsome, even with the spectacles he was wearing.

“Renee! It’s so good you see you again,” Elizabeth gushed. 

Clayton Percival, Viscount Sotheby, looked upon the young human girl in awe. Renee hadn’t been teasing him with her tales about a claimed human! He’d only come to tonight’s festivities to get a look at the chit – or to, once and for all, get his friend to stop teasing him. Yet, here he stood, gaping at the gorgeous brunette like some wet behind the ears lad. 

“It’s nice to see you again too, Elizabeth. And, this tongue-tied dolt next to me is Lord Clayton Percival, Viscount Sotheby. Clayton, close your mouth, dear, and extend your greetings to Lady Elizabeth Summers, the Earl of Arundel’s ward.” 

Hearing his name, Clayton snapped out of his trance and affected a stiff bow in introduction. 

“Lady Elizabeth…” 

Elizabeth smiled at the bespectacled vampire. Draped in the finest clothes for tonight’s ball, he still managed to look as out of place as she felt. If it weren’t for Renee at his side, he probably would have gone and hidden in some corner. As it was, she held him firmly in place without appearing to do so. 

“Clayton, why don’t you ask Elizabeth to dance? She looks like she’d like to take a spin around the dance floor.” 

“I’d love to,” Elizabeth responded before the shy man could voice the question. She’d felt the music thrumming through her body since she’d stepped inside. And, although it somehow seemed different from what she was used to – which was a strange thought the more she mulled it over – she wanted to be out there, twirling around and around. 

The Viscount escorted the human girl out amongst the other couples on the floor, both settling their hands in the proper place before gliding around the room. His awkwardness slid away under the seemingly effortless grace of his partner. She easily complemented his moves, as if she’d stepped into his mind and knew what he was going to do before even he did. To test his theory, he purposefully misstepped, and was proved right when she easily sidestepped, avoiding the crunch of his foot upon her soft shoes, the seamlessness of the action completely undetectable to anyone who might be watching. 

Except for one. 

Spike watched his ward glide across the dance floor in the arms of another vampire and couldn’t help but admire her poise. Even without her memory intact, she still moved like the Slayer. Unconsciously staying one step ahead of her enemy. 

Then, he watched, as it was _she_ that faltered, although the brief slip looked anything but contrived, and he noticed her blush and how she apologized to her partner for her momentary clumsiness. But it was her ashen features and panicked look that had him swooping in to rescue his girl.

~*~*~*~*~

Elizabeth didn’t know what happened. One minute she was waltzing around the room on the Viscount’s arm, the next, her brain was assaulted with visions of blasphemous music, and creatures – humans – and they were dancing, at least she thought they were dancing. But it was unlike anything she’d ever before witnessed. And their clothes. It was like that time before in the alley, when she’d woken with William by her side. 

She became scared, confused. 

Then, he was there. She could feel him behind her, cutting in abruptly and sweeping her into his arms, leaving the other vampire to make his way off the floor. Elizabeth clung to her lover as much as possible in so public a place, worried about what she’d seen, what she’d imagined. Gained strength just by him being here, dancing with her. 

She needed him to make it go away. Those crazy visions that caused her nothing but confusion and pain. 

When the music drew to an end, Spike led her off the dance floor and over to where Mrs. Rothworth, the vampire he’d cut in on, and Renee, stood talking with Doyle. 

“I’m going to make my excuses to our host and say goodbye to my father, then we’re leaving. Watch her until I get back, she’s not feeling well,” he told her chaperone. He waited for a moment as the four rallied around the Slayer, nodding his thanks before striding off to locate the Duke and his father. 

He found the Duke first, engaged in conversation with human and vampire alike, completely oblivious to the fact. Spike quickly made his excuses, citing his ward’s sudden illness, and was advised by the man that his father had left about an hour before, pleading fatigue.

Spike thanked the man for the information and his hospitality, with a promise to get together sometime in the coming week. He returned to the Slayer and his small group made their way through the crush of people, grabbing their cloaks and escaping into the night. He didn’t bother with convention and as soon as the carriage door shut, Spike pulled the Slayer onto his lap and soothed her. He felt her shudder beneath his touch and part of him was worried that her memories were coming back. 

And, right now, he really wished they wouldn’t.


	22. Chapter 22

Spike stood on the steps leading to the altar and struggled not to cringe at all the religious symbols on display. Beside him, Doyle, shuffled his feet back and forth, but for an entirely different reason – he still couldn’t figure out why the Powers were keeping him in the past with Spike. A few of his other groomsmen stood in stoic silence as they waited for the wedding to get underway. 

Spike breathed an unnecessary sigh of relief that he’d managed to avert disaster and actually marry the Slayer before her memories came rushing back. His mind drifted over the past month while he waited for the music to begin and the first of several women to come walking down the aisle. 

He distinctly remembered the Slayer’s trembling body as he’d held her after leaving the Duke’s ball. She’d not voiced her concerns – which in hindsight had worked out for the best since he’d not needed her chaperone looking at them suspiciously – just clung to his chest as he’d attempted to soothe her fears. 

He’d waited until the household had settled down before going to her and she’d stayed up waiting for him. Holding out her arms for him from her position in the middle of the bed. He remembered she’d started crying at one point, scared that she’d be taken from him and thrust back to that “awful place”, and he’d done almost everything he could think of to show her that he wouldn’t let her leave him. She’d vehemently denied his reassurances, her hysteria continuing to increase, and it had taken him claiming her with cock and fangs, draping his body over hers until she’d finally calmed down. 

He’d left her in the predawn hours, exhausted, wanting nothing more than to sleep through the morning and early afternoon, praying she’d wake with her memories firmly locked away. 

Only Spike had not been able to rest and instead went to his study to set plans in motion to formally marry the Slayer, allotting her and her chaperone just one month to make the necessary arrangements. When the Slayer had balked at him, citing that most weddings took months if not a year to finalize, he’d told her in no uncertain terms that it would be one month, and if she had a problem with anything, to see him and he’d work through any issues with money. 

So, for the next month, the two women had plotted; he’d rarely seen the Slayer during the day as invitations were finalized, a wedding gown chosen, the reception and meal planned. 

He’d thought everything was moving along smoothly until Mrs. Rothworth had knocked on his study about a week into their allotted month. Her charge was upset and no amount of coaxing could get the girl to voice her troubles. Spike had gotten up to see what was troubling the Slayer, but Doyle stayed him. Understanding dawned in the vampire’s eyes, and he nodded once to the other demon. 

It was time for the half-breed to explain to the Slayer why her parents had yet to make an appearance after the banns had first been posted. Doyle had practically dragged his feet leaving the study, muttering possible conversation openers as he walked down the hall. 

Spike had remained behind so that he could comfort her once the bad news was broken. 

And she’d come running, tears streaming down her face as she raced into the study. Spike had just held her close while she poured out her imaginary grief at the death of her parents. Doyle had explained that Spike had wanted to wait until after the wedding before telling her the bad news, how he’d not wanted to spoil what had been such a joyous occasion. When she’d burst into the room, claiming she couldn’t get married now because of the mandatory mourning period, he’d nearly exploded. Yet, he’d managed to calm himself and explain that if they waited, whomever her father might have chosen as her guardian would have the say in her life. Which also meant that no one could know about her parent’s death until after they were married. 

She’d blustered and cried some more, but was eventually swayed to his way of thinking and gone back to her planning. The first few days after finding out, she’d just been going through the motions, not taking part as enthusiastically as she had been. But as the days wore on, her cheery disposition returned until she was once more her giddy self at the prospect of marrying. 

Spike couldn’t make the days go by fast enough. After the Duke of Sevring’s ball, when the Slayer and her friends weren’t planning for the wedding, the two were attending one function after another. Her instant popularity among the ton had been established when it was noted that she was the intended bride of the Earl of Arundel. And, since he’d settled his differences with his father – not to mention the way he had with money – invitations were flooding in, requesting their presence at balls and soirées. He didn’t even want to remember the steady stream of visitors into his home that caused both him and Doyle to seek sanctuary within his study… or his club. 

He’d not minded, so much, the activity. He’d surprised himself by actually getting along with a few of the vampiric nobles to whom he’d been introduced. No, what worried him were the increased interactions of the Slayer with others. He’d always worried when she’d disappear with her chaperone to attend some tea or other that she’d come back with her memories intact and a stake gripped in her fist. 

But, after that incident on the dance floor, she’d not had another – not that he’d counted the occasional “Spike’s” the Slayer had shouted when she reached orgasm. Her body might have realized who her lover happened to be, but her mind wasn’t quite ready to learn. 

So now, here he stood in a single file line with five other men, all in matching dress, trying not to pull at his cravat as he waited for the women to appear. 

His eyes scanned the packed church that had come to bear witness to his marriage. He just wished the bloody thing would move along, so he could marry the girl and escape the suffocating walls of the religious building. 

Then, finally the music started and the first of the Slayer’s bridesmaids began her walk down the aisle. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

There was something about seeing a woman in a wedding dress for the first time that seemed to leave one gaping like a bloody ponce. Yes, he’d already claimed the girl. Yes, he’d let the Powers manipulate him into actually performing a human ceremony. But, as he caught his first glimpse of the Slayer in all her finery, no matter that it was eighteenth century couldn’t-make-out-a-hint-of-a-figure-underneath-all-that-material garb, Spike could do nothing more than stare like everyone else. 

She was a vision. Clichéd, but true. 

Made of the palest silver, the long-sleeved gown hugged her arms and upper body like a second skin. The bodice came to a “vee” in the front, and the current fashion of plumed skirts flaring at the waist was modified to a gentle swell outward from her tiny waist. His eyes narrowed in on the plunging neckline and thought for sure that if she were to inhale too deeply, she’d burst out of her top and flash all the guests. A train attached to the back of her collar to trail behind her at least ten feet. The only jewels she wore were the blood red ruby necklace he’d gifted her with almost a month ago, and her engagement ring. Her hair was swept back from her face to fall in riotous curls down her back, completely ignoring society’s latest rage of the huge pompadour hairstyle. 

As she slowly made her way towards him, Spike entertained thoughts of striding down the aisle, ripping the bloody contraption off and having his wicked way with her right in front of all of the guests. He watched her grip tighten on his father as he helped her down the aisle, a stumble so slight he doubted anyone noticed. But he had, and severed the call he’d unconsciously exerted via the claim. 

Then, she smiled at him. A secret smile that proved she knew what he’d done, and couldn’t wait for the ceremony to be over so they could actually act upon it. 

Spike sent up a silent prayer to a God he didn’t believe in for Him to hurry these proceedings along and end his torment. 

When his father finally reached him and relinquished his hold on the Slayer, Spike breathed a mental sigh of relief. He placed his hands in hers and gazed down at her upturned face as the priest bound them together, forever forsaking all others. 

All too soon, the wedding was complete, and his hands lifted to cup her jaw and he swooped down to claim her lips in a fierce kiss, the passionate embrace eliciting titters among many of the guests. Reluctantly, he lifted his head from the Slayer’s, smiling slightly when she remained as she was – head lifted, eyes closed – and he couldn’t resist a second hard, quick kiss. He felt her smile beneath his lips and his answering smile presented itself before he had a chance to stop it. 

His hands fell from her face and he reached out and grasped her hand to lead her down the aisle and past the guests. 

~*~*~*~*~

Since the Marquess of Chadsworth’s townhome was much larger than his son’s, he’d volunteered to hold the reception there. When Spike and the Slayer stepped inside, the place was already teeming with people. They danced and mingled with the wedding guests until Spike thought he’d go crazy if he didn’t have her right then. 

Leaving the small group of gentlemen he’d been chatting with, Spike searched for his father to make his excuses. He’d waited long enough – at least he figured spending two hours at the bloody reception had been very generous on his part. Personally, he’d rather have skipped the formalities and gone straight to the bedding aspect of the night. Wending his way through the crush of people, he finally zeroed in on his father. It was a bonus that the Slayer happened to be standing next to the older man – it saved him from having to hunt her down next. 

He watched as she happened to glance away from the Marquess, like she’d sensed his approach, and saw her face light up with delight. Spike took a moment to revel in the feeling of the undisguised emotion on her face, locking the moment away to pull out once the Slayer’s mind was once more in the driver’s seat. He didn’t kid himself that the girl’s feelings would last past the moment when her memories returned. 

“William,” Elizabeth gushed as he moved to stand next to her, “I was just thanking your father for allowing us to use his home to hold the reception, and if, by chance, he’d seen you. I think all this celebration has gone to my head and find that I might need to lie down and rest for a bit.” 

“I was just about to search the masses for you when Elizabeth noticed your presence,” the Marquess added. 

“I’m sorry, William, but would you mind terribly if we left the party early?” she questioned of her husband. 

Spike could barely hide his smile at his good fortune. He’d thought that it would have taken him hours to convince the Slayer to leave her own reception. Her feeling unwell provided just the excuse he needed to steal her away from this crowd so soon after arriving. Once back at his townhouse, he could cure the Slayer of her slight illness in the most sinful of ways before journeying to his country estate for the week. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, luv,” he responded. He just hoped he was able to keep the eagerness out of his voice. “Why don’t we get you home to rest for a bit?” 

“I’m sure that’s all I need,” she told him. “I wasn’t able to sleep well last night, and I hate to leave all of these guests…” 

The Marquess hurried to assure her that everyone would understand, patting her hand in a fatherly way as he drew her towards the front door. 

Spike had just settled her into the seat and gotten the carriage underway when the Slayer attacked him, planting herself in his lap and ravishing his lips. The minx! And here he’d thought that he’d have to coax her into this… 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Willow woke first, the sunlight filtering in from the blinds and shining across her face from her spot on the floor. She stretched, wondering why she’d fallen asleep on the floor, and leaned over to wake Buffy – but found Xander’s dark mop of hair peeking out of the sleeping bag. She sat up abruptly, the events of last night rushing over her, and she leaned over to shake her friend awake. 

“Xander! Wake up!” 

Xander burrowed himself deeper into his cocoon, moaning under his breath for his mother to leave him alone. 

“Xander! Come on…wake up. We’ve got to get back to the library. I’m sure Giles is there already and is attempting to find Buffy. He’ll need our help.” 

“Hey, you two, keep it quiet,” Cordelia’s voice drifted down to them from her place on the bed. “Some of us need our beauty sleep.” 

“Wha—?” Xander’s voice sounded at the same time. Willow rolled her eyes – apparently the name Buffy was enough to tear him away from sleep. 

“Buffy… you know…? the Slayer? She disappeared yesterday?” 

Xander sat up, his eyes taking in his location. _‘So this is what Cordelia’s bedroom looks like!’_

“Huh? Oh, right! Buffy!” Xander exclaimed, once more focusing on the matter at hand. “We probably should go then.” 

Cordelia sat up as well and flung the covers off her. 

“Well, since I’m obviously not getting any more sleep today, I may as well get dressed and come with you,” she told the two before flouncing into her connecting bathroom and shutting the door. 

The two friends sat on the floor staring at one another, confusion marring their features. 

Did Cordelia just offer to help them? 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Cordelia had parked her car next to Giles’ blue relic and the three made their way toward the back entrance of the school. It was the closest door leading to the library and the watcher was in the habit of leaving it unlocked when he was there, in case the Slayer or her friends were to stop by. 

Their shoes clicked hollowly on the deserted floor as they walked towards the swinging doors of the library. When they stepped inside, the first thing they saw was a huge stack of books littering the table where Giles sat – well, slept – head resting on a place beside one of the open volumes. 

“Giles?” Willow called out softly so as not to scare the man to death. It didn’t work, and they watched as he jerked awake and nearly upended his chair. 

“Willow? Xander… Cordelia? What are you doing here? I thought I told you to go home.” 

“Uh, G-man… we did. It’s morning now, as in the day after.” He pointed to the window. “See the light?” 

“Giles, did you spend the whole night here?” Willow asked concerned. Then, not waiting for an answer she told him, “We came back to help, figuring you’d… be… umm…” She gestured towards the stack of books. “…researching.”

“Yes, well… right. Uh… make yourself at home,” Giles told them, gesturing toward the chairs around the table. 

Willow noticed one of the books that both she and Buffy had been looking at after seeing the diary the other day and moved to put it on another table out of the way. 

“Ooooh, I’ll take that one,” Cordelia announced, putting her hands on the book. “It doesn’t look _quite_ as old as the other ones… less dusty too.” 

The redhead shrugged her shoulders. It wasn’t like Cordelia was going to find anything useful in the book and that would leave the other, more important, books to Willow and Giles. 

As the others sat down, Xander escaped briefly to make a donut run. 

“Oh, get some of those jelly-filled ones…” Giles called out to Xander as he left. 

“Right, jelly-filled goodness for the G-man.” 

“And would you stop with that infernal name you insist upon calling me?” 

But Xander was already out of the library and didn’t hear.

~*~*~*~*~

The others were deep into research-mode when Xander returned with their sugar high. Both Willow and Giles looked deep in thought as they pored over the old tomes opened before them. Cordelia was curled up in her chair, idly twirling a lock of her hair with her index finger, when she flipped the page and sat up so suddenly the book nearly toppled out of her lap. 

“Oh my God! Look at this, Giles!” 

“There can’t be anything there,” Willow told Cordelia. “That’s just a history book of titled men and women in eighteenth century England. Buffy and I were looking at it the other day after stealing Giles’ watcher’s diary…” 

Her voice trailed off when she realized what had just come out of her mouth. She glanced guiltily towards Giles, her face flaming red in embarrassment. 

“Shows what you know, Miss Smartypants,” Cordelia told Willow, plopping the book down on top of the opened one Willow had been reading. “Says right here, the Earl of Arundel married Lady Elizabeth Anne Summers on December 12, 1775.” 

“That’s just a coincidence…” Willow stammered. 

“Oh, yeah? Take a look at this!” Cordelia flipped the page and Willow gawked at the replicated painting in the book. 

“Oh my! That’s just…Giles! That’s Buffy… and Spike!”


	23. Chapter 23

Elizabeth hiked the skirts of her wedding dress nearly to her waist so that she could settle more comfortably on her husband’s lap, peppering his pale face with light kisses and using her fingers to play with the curls at the nape of his neck.

Husband.

She liked the sound of that. 

“Husband,” she murmured the title out loud. She paused for a moment, her lips suspended over his, so that she could gaze upon his face. His eyes were closed, his head resting against the carriage wall behind him, an answering smile to her whispered title playing about his full lips. 

He was beautiful in repose. His sculpted cheekbones just begged for her lips and tongue to trace them. The scar crisscrossing his dark brow gave him a decidedly rakish air. His hair was getting longer, the pale tips giving way to a slightly darker color – more honey brown than blonde. 

Spike felt her studying him and opened one eye to peek up at the Slayer. 

“Wot?” 

“Nothing,” she replied, her cheeks pinkening. Her hands slipped from his hair to his shoulders, then down into her lap. Her eyes became fixated on them, anything to keep from getting caught in his piercing gaze. 

“Don’t become a blushing bride on me now. What are you thinking?” 

His words just made her redden more, and she shook her head in the negative to keep from answering, refusing to look at him. 

“Come on now, none of that.” His fingertips brushed under her chin and coaxed her to look at him. He gasped at the intensity he saw there, and for a moment he thought the Slayer was back and ready to stake him good and proper-like. 

“I just… you’re my husband now. Mine. And now, everyone knows it.” She couldn’t prevent the wicked gleam that came into her eyes at how she’d managed to steal him out from under all of those plotting mothers and their equally single-minded daughters. 

As if to prove it to herself, her hands returned to his shoulders, and she lowered her lips to his once more. 

Spike’s grip on the Slayer’s hips tightened. But other than that, he showed no sign of how much she was affecting him. Well, besides the bulge pressed snuggly against his breeches. 

Elizabeth traced her tongue around his lips, mimicking what had been done to her by him when he wanted to taste her. She smiled when his lips parted, as if on command, allowing her tongue to ease inside. 

Spike remained still, seeing how far she would take her exploration, and nearly crowed with delight when her lips left his to trail along his jaw to his ear. He kept his fingers firmly clenched around her hips and willed his body not to move and frighten her off. Her moist tongue and warm breath were playing havoc with his body as she traced the shell of his ear – he wanted nothing more than to fling her down upon the floor of the carriage and ravage her. But, this was the first time she’d initiated their love play and he wanted to see just how far she’d take it. 

His patience was rewarded when he felt her hands leave his shoulders and go to work on the fastenings of his coat. After a moment, he felt his cravat tugged from about his neck before nimble fingers attacked the fastenings of his shirt. 

Elizabeth was growing bolder, encouraged both by the pleasurable sighs and groans escaping her husband’s mouth and by him lying relatively passive beneath her. If you could call his tightly coiled body practically vibrating beneath her parted legs passive. But, she couldn’t – or wouldn’t – stop now. Her fingers flew over the fastenings, eager to feel his cool skin beneath her fingertips, her lips. Her mouth moved away from his ear to slide down his torso as more skin became available for her to touch, caress... mark as hers. She felt him tremble when her lips latched onto one hardened nipple, much the same way he often did to her. Her other hand managed to bare the other pert nub, and she fondled it while she laved at one with her tongue. Beneath her, she felt him arch into her touch, and she smiled around the hardened point in her mouth just before she bit into him with blunt teeth. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to get his attention, which she got, a low growl emanating from his throat. 

Yet, he made no move to dislodge her, and this emboldened Elizabeth to continue her quest further down his body. Her lips and tongue tasted every inch of his pale chest. She marveled at the lean muscles of his abdomen, how they rippled beneath her touch as she traced patterns along the grooves. 

Impatient to see more of him, she pulled his shirt from his waistband, spreading it wide. She felt his grip on her hips disappear so she could slide the garment from his shoulder and down his arms to pool on the seat. She happened to glance towards his face and noticed that his eyes were still closed – the muscles in his jaw were clenched, indicating the tightly leashed control he had on his emotions. She could see the pronounced veins along his neck, located where he often sipped from her, and she gripped his shoulders and lowered her head to trace its path with her tongue. 

Spike’s arms wrapped around her back, holding her flush against his body while she alternately sucked and nipped at his throat, and could do nothing to prevent his demonic features from bursting forth. He was practically salivating to sink his fangs in her neck as she played so innocently with his. Before he had a chance to act, she moved away, sliding down his body to kneel before him on the seat, so that she could continue where she’d left off. 

He felt her fingers playing with the fastenings of his trousers, and Spike sucked in an unneeded breath when he realized that she intended to explore every inch of his body. Once more he exerted his will over his demon to not attack her, to rip her gown from her body as his lust threatened to consume him, to plunge his cock so hard and deep inside her pussy she’d pass out from the pleasure-filled pain. He was just about to say sod it all to her exploring when he felt her still. 

His passion-filled gaze fixated on her face, noting the hesitancy clearly written all over her expressive features. 

“What’s the matter, luv?” he asked, unable to keep the husky quality out of his voice. 

“I… it’s alright? What I’m doing? I just… well, you’ve never let me touch you like this before…” her voice trailed off in a mixture of embarrassment and child-like innocence. 

Her words tamped down the beast raging within Spike to take her hard and fast. He vowed right then and there that he’d lay pliant under her touch as she acquainted herself with his body. 

“Anything we do together is right, Elizabeth.” He pulled her up off her knees and onto his lap. With an unusual display of gentle affection, he pulled the pins from her hair, allowing the dark locks to cascade down her back. His fingers cupped her jaw, pulling her down to him for the barest of kisses – no more than brushing his lips lightly back and forth across hers. 

Elizabeth’s eyes had closed as he’d coaxed her head toward his, but they opened now, tears swimming in her eyes as she looked at her husband. A demon, but still a man, and capable of such emotion. As he kissed her with such loving tenderness, reassuring her with his touch that this was right, that they were right, her love for him burst forth until it threatened to overwhelm her, and she couldn’t prevent the whispered vow from escaping her lips. 

_I love you._

Spike’s lips stilled upon the Slayer’s. His eyes opened and his gaze collided with hers, watery eyes brimming with an emotion he’d yet to see, even from his Dark Princess. He was a vampire tormented. Part of him crowed with delight that his enemy had come to care for him, though he knew it to be just an illusion. As soon as the Slayer was once more in her right mind, she’d deny him – if for no other reason than spite – for ever being made to feel for a soulless demon. A creature she was destined to kill. 

“Oh God, pet…” he murmured, kissing her again as he fumbled with her skirts. “Gotta be inside you. Can’t wait,” he gasped. 

He felt her fingers at the fastenings of his pants again, eager to join their bodies in celebration of her announcement. 

“Don’t…. don’t rip… wanna keep… gown…” she told him in between kisses, trying to preserve her wedding dress from being torn to shreds. 

Spike nodded against her lips, he’d spare the dress. The undergarments wouldn’t fare as well. 

Elizabeth’s knees found purchase upon the seat, allowing her husband to raise his hips and push his breeches down around his knees. She felt her undergarments give way under his sharp claws, the delicate material no match for his impatience, and she quirked her brow at him. 

“Wot? It’s not your gown.” 

Her mock-angry look left her in a rush as he quickly positioned himself at her opening and hauled her body down upon his engorged length. Her arms encircled his neck as he guided her hips to ride him. She murmured her love for her husband over and over until she was no longer able to speak, the pleasure of having him sheathed so tight and deep within her body soon reduced her fervent declarations to hitched breaths and needy moans, until she exploded in orgasm, the name “William” reverberating against the walls of the carriage. 

Spike’s hips rose off the seat of the carriage and he continued to guide her up and down along his length as she came. The clenching of her inner walls around his cock was his undoing, and it wasn’t long before he was joining her, an orgasm so intense his eyes nearly crossed. Her heavy breathing was the only noise to break the silence; he held her close, his cock still buried deep within her body. 

As he caressed her back, he refused to dwell on the whispered “I love you’s” she’d babbled during their lovemaking. Didn’t want to think about when it would all come to an end, and she’d hate him yet again. So, he spoke nothing of his own developing feelings. Just used his body to reciprocate the words she’d so innocently spoken. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Elizabeth had dozed on her husband’s lap, lulled by the gentle sway of their carriage as it wended its way towards their destination. When she awoke, she was finally able to finish her exploration of her husband’s body. 

Now, once more settled on his lap – although this time divested of clothes – she smiled in delight at how she’d been able to make him lose his infamous control. Fascinated by her husband’s jutting manhood, her fingertips had encircled his length, marveling at the silken steel as she’d pumped her hand from base to tip and then back again. She’d seen a pearly drop appear at the slit in the tip and had been curious, wondering how it tasted. Her tongue had darted out to lick up the drop, and she’d found herself flat on her back on the floor of the carriage quicker than she could blink, her skirts thrown up over her head as her husband pounded away at her. 

Afterwards, he’d apologized, telling her that she’d have to do her exploration in stages, for her own protection, claiming he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions if she kept this up. She’d just smiled into his neck, reveling in the power she had to make him lose control so quickly. 

They’d finally stopped after the fourth stage, with him claiming that they’d need to get dressed soon since they were nearing their destination. Curled upon his lap as she was now, Elizabeth didn’t feel much like moving. Even to get dressed. She was far too comfortable… and sated. 

Spike didn’t feel much like moving either, was happy to hold her in all her naked glory upon his lap. However, he didn’t think his new countess wanted to formally meet the staff in the buff, so he urged her off his lap to help her back into her wedding gown. He managed to pull on his own clothes just as the carriage made the turn into his country estate. 

~*~*~*~*~

The two spent the remainder of the week locked inside the master bedroom, having food and drink delivered to the door. They didn’t eat often; Elizabeth wouldn’t have bothered at all if it weren’t for her husband’s insistence. He’d made sure she did since he couldn’t seem to keep his fangs out of her body over the course of the week and wanted to make sure she kept up her strength. 

Spike continually stamped his mark upon the Slayer, knowing that any day could be the last, once she had her memories back. He plied his skill over her body, reducing her to tears as she had begged for release the first couple of days, before she’d caught on and whispered the words that would release her from his torment. 

_I love you._

Sensing his insecurity, but not knowing the cause, Elizabeth murmured it over and over to her husband as he made love to her, and he in turn, showered her body with love. Oh, she’d yet to hear it pass from his lips, but every action, every caress, proved his love of her. So, she said it for both of them. Yelled it when her body would climax. Whispered it while she held him close and he slept the day away. 

On the day they were due to depart back to the city, earl and countess finally left the master bedroom so that Elizabeth could be properly introduced to the staff. The more senior staff she’d already met, having spent the past month or so with them at the townhouse. Now she met the remainder – and there were many. From lowly stable boy and downstairs maid, all the way up through the servant chain of command, Elizabeth was introduced to each and every one as their new countess. Afterwards, the two had eaten in the formal dining room before retiring to William’s study so that he could go through some correspondence before they returned to London.

~*~*~*~*~

Elizabeth settled on the chaise lounge, an unopened book of poetry sat forgotten on her lap as she watched her husband work. He sifted through the papers on his desk, a frown often marring his features while he concentrated. She watched as he ran a hand through his hair to brush a stray lock out of the way, and covered her mouth around a giggle when the stubborn curl returned to its previous position. 

“Keep looking at me like that, pet, and we’ll never get back to the city. You know you need your beauty sleep for the Marchioness’ dinner party tomorrow night,” Spike told her, his eyes never leaving the papers spread out before him on his desk. 

Elizabeth flushed, having been caught ogling her husband, and she turned back to the poetry book in her lap. After a while, she closed the book, resting her head against the armrest to take a nap. She was tired, but in a good kind of way. 

“Why don’t you go upstairs to rest, kitten,” he urged, seeing her trying to get comfortable on the chaise. 

“Wanna stay here with you,” she mumbled sleepily, settling herself on the cushioned furniture. 

Spike’s eyes widened at her improper English – she was getting close now. This past week was proof of that. Several times he’d awakened the Slayer to make love to her, only to have her melt into his embrace, murmuring his name. But, it hadn’t been William she voiced; it had been Spike. 

Now as he heard the butchered English she’d spoken back in her time come out of her mouth, he wanted to rage and curse the Powers for putting him in this situation. Yet, after having her warm and willing body surrounding him, her words of love soothing his demon… he would still do things the same way. She was his. Would still be his even after her memories came back. Whether she wanted to be or not.

~*~*~*~*~

He let the Slayer sleep until dusk, when, finished with the necessities of running his household, he rose from his desk to wake her. He gazed down on her sleeping perfection as she rested on her side, one arm tucked up under her chin while the other rested on the cushion in front of her. Kneeling beside her, he brushed his knuckles across her cheek, smiling as she leaned into him. 

“Come on, kitten. Time to wake up so we can return to the city,” Spike told her. 

Elizabeth’s eyelashes fluttered as she was pulled from sleep. They finally opened and her gaze locked on blue eyes staring indulgently at her. 

“Hey…” she voiced around a sleepy smile. 

She noticed his slight frown and lifted her hand to soothe the lines away. 

“Love you,” she told him, her thumb brushing over his lips. 

Spike lowered his head to hers, ravaging her lips with all his pent-up frustrations as her ever-increasing present-day traits returned. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close as he plundered her mouth, unsure what it was exactly that had set him off this time. Just when she’d been about to roll onto her back and bring her husband to rest on top of her, he broke away from her embrace, leaving her grasping at air and teeming with sexual frustration. 

He rose to his feet, griping her hand as he hauled her to a sitting position. 

“Later, love,” he told her with a wink. She looked so cute, disgruntled and pouty, and couldn’t help the smile that graced his lips. “We’ve still a long ride back to the city to look forward to.” 

She cheered at his promise, and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.


	24. Chapter 24

Elizabeth sat next to her hostess, Renee Atherton, Marchioness of Haversham, discussing the events that had transpired in the city the past week while she’d been away on her honeymoon. She listened to her friend halfheartedly, her eyes constantly drifting back towards her husband who sat several places away talking to the Duke of Sevring. 

In the month spent preparing for her wedding, she and the vampiress had become close. Renee had gloated right along with her that she’d managed to snatch the earl out from under everyone else’s nose, claiming all the while that she’d known the first moment she’d met Lord Arundel that he cared about Elizabeth. 

That had led to Elizabeth asking her friend whether or not a vampire could love. Which had brought about a whole discussion about how Renee had been turned, about her sire and husband, and about her knowledge beforehand of his “situation” and how she’d loved him even knowing what he was, that he’d loved her as well. 

Renee had confessed to the girl that she’d tried to join him in death several times after he’d turned to dust, deliberately seeking out the sun to take away the pain of his leaving. But she’d been stopped each time – the Aurelius clan looking out for her during her time of grief. It had been that, and her human brother that had managed to prevent her from taking that final step. 

The conversation had been most illuminating to Elizabeth, and she’d felt better knowing that she wasn’t the only one capable of loving a demon, and that one day, William might come to feel the same. 

Spike felt the eyes of the Slayer on him yet again, and he glanced away from the Duke momentarily to look at his wife. Passion flared to life within the blue depths of his gaze he pinned on the Slayer, and saw evidence of the desire she was too innocent to mask. He smiled at her, the slight upturn to his lips, a promise of things to come once they were back home, before he turned away to continue his discussion with Rafe. 

Doyle sat across from Spike at the table, next to the Duke’s wife, Caroline. He watched as Spike glanced over towards the Slayer, the electricity between them so great, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind what would be happening later that evening with the two. It was funny how neither party noticed their effect on the other guests. Snickered as he saw all of the vampires, and several of the humans twitch in their seats at the lust brimming in the newlywed’s eyes before Spike severed the connection and returned to his conversation. 

“They love each other very much,” the Duchess beside him whispered. 

“I think we can safely say that theirs was a love match,” he replied. The two shared a smile before changing the topic, once more returning to subjects deemed appropriate in polite society. 

After dinner, the men had retired to the late-Marquess’ study to partake of an after-dinner cigar and brandy. The ladies moved to the drawing room and discussion turned to gowns, households, and the next event planned for the season. 

Soon the men filtered back to rejoin the ladies, and it was no small surprise among several of the ladies gathered that the Earl of Arundel was the first through the door to reclaim his wife. They’d all gotten a glimpse of the two and those not deeply in love with their own husbands sighed silently at the couple’s obvious affection for one another, wishing they, too, could have a love like theirs.

~*~*~*~*~

“Are you nervous?” Renee asked Elizabeth. “Because you shouldn’t be. As unorthodox as it may be, Lord Arundel has claimed you as his. You’ll have nothing to fear at the gathering.” 

“Gathering?” she asked confused. 

“Oh, I thought you knew. He must not have told you yet. Well, just look surprised when he does, and it’ll be our secret,” Renee replied with a wink. 

The two laughed conspiratorially causing a few heads to turn their way. Elizabeth envied her friend’s ability of not blushing at having drawn the others’ notice. She, unfortunately, was red-faced at their spontaneous outburst – especially when such public displays weren’t deemed “the thing.” 

“Now look what you’ve done,” Elizabeth remarked. “This is going to get back to Mrs. Rothworth and I’ll never hear the end of it. Laughing in public like this.” 

Mrs. Rothworth had returned to her own home after Elizabeth’s marriage only after assuring her former charge that she was welcome to visit at any time. Elizabeth had been relieved, not wanting to be severed from her lifeline just yet. True, she was now married to her vampire lover, but she’d been led to expect certain rites and ceremonies were commonplace among these demons and she didn’t want to have to do without the elder woman’s guidance in such matters, even though Renee had taken it upon herself to help her better understand their way of life. 

“Oh, nonsense. They’re just dying to know what we find so amusing, is all. Any one of them would give up their week’s allowance to be privy to our conversation.” 

It was true. The others had kept their distance as the two women had moved away from the group to converse quietly, but several of the other noblewomen present tonight were green with envy at Elizabeth’s fast-growing friendship with the popular Marchioness. 

“So, tell me about this gathering. I take it from all the secrecy that it’s a vampire event,” she whispered quietly so that she wouldn’t be overheard. 

“It is indeed. Since it’s your first, you’ll be formally introduced to clan Aurelius.” Seeing the girl visibly blanch, she rushed on. “Oh, you don’t have to worry. It’s nothing life threatening. And then afterwards, the fun begins… although, you may not want to hang around for that. Lots of blood and fighting.” 

Elizabeth listened, her eyes wide in astonishment and confusion. The vampiress saw and chuckled softly. 

“It’s who we are, it’s what we do,” she explained. “The purpose isn’t to kill, but our demons need an outlet. These mock battles away from the humans give us that.” 

Beside her, Elizabeth nodded, fascinated. She expected to feel revulsion at her friend’s explanation, yet in an odd way, it made sense – she only hoped she still felt the same way once she witnessed firsthand everything Renee was describing. 

“The Marquess of Darderwyne is hosting the event. You haven’t met him. He’s been traveling and making arrangements. I think he left right before you’d ventured to the city.” 

“Oh…” 

“Don’t worry, Elizabeth.” 

“If you say so…” 

“I do,” she replied, looping her arm through hers. “Now, come on. Your husband has looked over here no less than five times already. I think he’s ready to depart.” 

Elizabeth glanced instinctively towards where her husband stood talking with Viscount Tellidyne and a few other men. The heated look he sent her way left no doubt as to what her husband wanted to be doing. She flushed as a wave of desire rushed through her body, and her gaze darted among the occupants of the room to see if anyone else had noticed. 

“Yes. I’d say he’s ready to leave.” Renee chuckled, amused at the master vampire’s possessiveness. “Come on, I’ll walk you over there. And I’ll see you next week at the Marquess’ home.” 

“Lord Arundel,” Renee greeted the earl as she and Elizabeth joined them. “Viscount Tellidyne… Joseph… Clayton.” 

Doyle and the three Aurelius vampires bowed to her as she stopped before them. 

“William, please, Lady Haversham,” Spike greeted his hostess. “Elizabeth tells me you two have become fast friends. I’m glad you’ve taken her under your wing and introduced her around.” 

“It was my pleasure. And I’ll call you William only if you call me Renee.” 

“Renee it is then.” Spike smiled politely before drawing the Slayer close. “Having fun, pet?” 

“I was actually. Renee is a wonderful hostess and always has a witty story or two to share.” 

“Yes, well… I guess I better go mingle with my guests. See you soon, Elizabeth,” Renee announced. 

“Goodbye, Renee. And, thank you for having us.” 

“Oh, twaddle. I’m surprised you cut short that honeymoon of yours to return for my little shindig.” 

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, and you know it,” Elizabeth responded. 

“Right then… Doyle, you ready to shove off?” Spike interjected, eager to be on his way. 

Doyle rolled his eyes, fully aware of why the other male wanted to leave. Things were well in hand here. The vampire had claimed the Slayer and had gone on to marry the chit. So, he wasn’t sure why he was still hanging out in the past – not that he hadn’t come to enjoy his brief stay. Spike was an alright bloke if you took away the evil and such. 

But the clothes were starting to wear on him. He wanted to get back to his time, wanted to wear jeans again… and decent shoes. Spike had the right of it – these pansy-assed clothes had to go! 

What the hell was keeping the Powers from letting him return? 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Elizabeth was getting more and more nervous the closer they got to Darderwyne Place, the Marquess’ home. It was just the two of them inside the carriage, Doyle having begged off from attending. True, Renee would be there to keep her company, and she didn’t plan on leaving her husband’s side. It was still disconcerting, to say the least. She was going to be openly mingling with them. 

Vampires. 

Creatures of the night. 

Demons that dined off human blood. 

She unconsciously shivered next to her husband’s side, only relaxing a little when he pulled her close.

“Relax, Elizabeth. It’s going to be fine.” 

All the stories her chaperone had told her about these events were swirling around in her brain. The images of blood and fighting… and then there was sex. Regular orgies, according to the rather descriptive words of Mrs. Rothworth. Elizabeth just prayed that she didn’t faint at the sight. 

“If you say so…” she responded, unsure. 

“Trust me, luv. No one is going to bother you.” 

“I know that… it’s just. I don’t want to disgrace you. I’m just not… sure… will there be lots of fighting?” she asked weakly. “You won’t get hurt will you?” 

She didn’t think she could bear it if something were to happen to him. Her anxiety steadily increased the more she thought about it, until she was nearly hyperventilating next to her husband. 

Spike could hear her heart rate pick up, hear her erratic breathing, and knew he had to do something to take her mind off things. She needed to relax. He couldn’t have her passing out even before they arrived. 

“C’mere,” he urged, pulling her onto his lap. 

One hand worked its way under the voluminous skirts of her dress as the other eased behind her neck to draw her down for a searing kiss. So caught up in the mastery of his lips upon hers, she didn’t feel the hand beneath her skirt until he’d plunged two fingers deep inside her. She tore her mouth from his, her eyes flying wide as a shocked gasp escaped her lips. Then, his fingers began to move, stretching her as they thrust in and out. 

“God, William… more…” she moaned as her grip on his shoulders tightened. 

Spike complied, sliding a third finger inside to join the other two, groaning as he felt her walls stretch to accommodate him. Her eyes fluttered closed, and as his thumb went to work on her clit, she arched into him, grinding herself against his hand. All thoughts about the gathering slipped away… all she could concentrate on was the way he was making her feel as his fingers plunged into her repeatedly. 

“More, William…make me yours… please… I need to feel…” she ground out helplessly, tottering on the brink of orgasm. 

_Bloody hell!_

He hadn’t planned on fucking the Slayer on the carriage ride to the Marquess’ country estate, just wanted to bring her off and help ease her apprehension. Only, her words were like a siren’s song, and he could no more resist them than those sailors that were lured to their doom. 

Spike removed his fingers, biting his lip at the loss of her heat. He fumbled with his fastenings, ignoring her mewling complaints while he shoved his trousers down far enough to let his cock free, pulled the Slayer onto his lap, and thrust home. 

Dual cries of satisfaction permeated the air inside the carriage. 

His eyes rolled up as her velvety heat squeezed his cock. Once fully seated, he stilled; his jaw worked as he fought to keep from coming right then. Above him, he felt the Slayer attempt to move and his grip tightened almost painfully on her hips to hold her in place. 

“Please…I need…” 

“I know what you need,” he growled. He lifted her hips, sliding her off his cock until he barely breached her entrance. He waited a moment then slammed her back down over his length. 

“This is what you need, innit?” His husky voice punctuated his question with the same driving technique. 

“Innit?” Another hard thrust. 

“You need to feel me deep inside of you… only me… isn’t that right?” he growled, driving into her harder, determined to mark her. 

“Yes… only you…” 

“Show me,” he snarled, never letting up on his punishing pace. “Give yourself to me.” 

Elizabeth’s eyes opened and locked with the amber-colored eyes of her demon husband. The balancing grip she had on his shoulders loosened, one hand lifting to sooth the ridges above his brow. When she was finished, she wound her hand around the back of his neck and guided him to his mark. 

“I’m yours… take me…” 

“Slayer…” 

With a possessive roar, he latched onto her throat. His fangs pierced her flesh and sent her body spiraling. Her climax hit so hard, she couldn’t prevent the near inhuman howl that burst past her lips. 

Spike ignored the carriage when it halted before their destination, too caught up in the taste and feel of the Slayer. Her enriched blood as it flooded his mouth. His cock drenched with her orgasm as her vaginal walls contracted around him. He could stay here like this forever, sod the damn gathering. 

He released her neck, not wanting to take too much of her blood and have her feeling dazed, licking the new marks on her neck closed. His demon receded, once more leaving his human mask in place. Invigorated with her Slayer’s blood, he drove himself into her, his hips lifting off the seat as he tried to bury every last inch of himself within her quivering chasm. 

“I love you…” she whispered softly and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself close to him. 

Those three softly spoken words were his downfall, and he gave himself over to his release, spilling himself deep within her womb. He crushed her to him, unmindful of her hair and gown, kissing her with a sudden desperation – as if, on some level he knew that things would change. That after today things would never be the same, like they were right now, here in this moment. 

Reluctantly, he ended the kiss. They’d been sitting there for some time now, and they should probably put their clothes to rights and make an appearance. 

“Come on, love. We best be getting inside,” Spike told her. 

She nodded at him, a little apprehensive, but not too much so since he was still inside her, still a part of her. She smiled at him, determined to make him proud. 

_‘I can do this,’_ she told herself firmly. _‘I can.’_

When their clothes were finally straightened, Spike opened the door to the carriage and stepped down. He turned, lifting his hand to assist the Slayer to the ground. 

“See that our bags are brought inside and then you may go. Return for us in a week’s time,” he told the coachman, who tipped his hat and assured the earl that everything would be seen to. 

Spike tucked his wife’s hand in the crook of his arm and led her towards the front steps. No servants greeted their arrival. The only humans on the premises were probably chained up somewhere, food just waiting to be consumed. 

~*~*~*~*~

To say the room came to a standstill at their entrance was an understatement. All activity stopped as Spike made his way down the foyer and into the sitting room where his host and hostess – he assumed – held court. 

He was saved from guessing when Renee hurried over to greet them. 

“William… Elizabeth! Come… let me introduce you to our host and hostess.” 

She led them over to the couple Spike had unerringly picked out, noting with satisfaction their instant deference to his presence when they stood to greet him. 

“Derrick, Esme… may I introduce William and Elizabeth Thornton, the Earl and Countess of Arundel,” Renee introduced. 

“William, Elizabeth…” she gestured towards the couple, continuing, “Derrick and Esme Northcutt, Marquess and Marchioness of Darderwyne, and our hosts for this event.” 

“Elizabeth… It’s good to finally see you again. Come, let me introduce you to some of our guests and leave the men to get acquainted… if that’s alright with you, Lord Arundel?” 

Spike glanced down at the Slayer, who looked up at him with a tremulous smile. She gave him a slight nod. He nodded to Esme and watched as she looped her arm with the Slayer’s and led her away. Things seemed fairly tame right now, as everyone was doing the meet and greet, but he’d have to keep an eye on her later once the party got into full swing. 

“She’ll be fine here,” the dark-haired Marquess announced. “No one would dare harm that which is yours. Come. Let me introduce you to some of the others.” 

He allowed himself to be led away by the older-looking vampire, out of the drawing room and towards the study where a small group of males congregated. Spike recognized Viscount Sotheby, the vampire that had danced with his wife at the Duke of Sevring’s ball, and the Marquess of Eaglethorpe, but the others he’d yet to meet. They looked up as he and his host walked towards them, halting their conversation and opening their small circle to allow them to join. 

“Lord Arundel…” the Marquess began. 

“William,” Spike corrected automatically. 

“Yes… William… let me make known to you Marcus Devlin, the Marquess of Brummidge and heir to the Duke of Rutherford.” 

Spike glanced up at the taller vampire. He looked about the same age as him, but knew instinctively that he was just a fledgling. With dark hair and dark eyes, the man bore a look similar to his grandsire. 

“Marcus,” Spike greeted. 

“Next to him is Joseph Maitland, Marquess of Eaglethorpe, whom you’ve already met, I’ve been told.” 

Spike nodded at the second dark-haired vampire. 

“Bryon Fielding, Earl of Hawkingstone… Hawk to his close friends,” the Marquess continued with his introductions. “And finally, Clayton Percival, Viscount Sotheby.” 

“We’ve met,” Spike announced. “Clayton…” 

“Gentlemen, this is William Thornton, the Earl of Arundel, recently returned to London.” 

The vampires greeted Spike warmly, quickly drawing him in to their exclusive circle. Their conversation resumed, and Spike listened as they discussed the scheduled events planned for the evening. The thought of sparring with the others appealed and he eagerly accepted their invitation to join them. 

Through the claim, he felt the Slayer’s tension ease and he began to finally relax in the others’ company. A drink was thrust in his hand at some point and he drank it, relishing the content’s fiery path down his throat. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Elizabeth had to admit, the party was nothing like she’d imagined after the tales Mrs. Rothworth had been spinning at the goings on at these affairs. So far, besides the fact that it was an exclusive vampire soiree, she couldn’t see any difference between what was occurring here and what transpired at a normal ton event. Well, except for a little more public affection. Oh, and there was that instance of some woman kissing another woman, which had brought a blush to her cheeks and teasing laughter from Renee and Esme. The idea had shocked her even though she couldn’t help but gawk at the two going at it right in front of everyone. 

And, what’s more. No one seemed to care. It was as if the strictures of society were suddenly gone and everyone did whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. 

Just like that, the anxiety that she had been harboring evaporated, and she was finally able to relax and just enjoy herself. 

Esme introduced Elizabeth to several of the women loitering about her home, moving from room to room as she alternately greeted people and gave Elizabeth a tour of the lower levels. 

“And I believe you’ve already met Mrs. Rothworth,” Esme said gesturing to an older woman clustered with a small group of older-looking women. 

Elizabeth squealed with delight, rushing over to greet the woman that had become a mother figure to her. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face when the elder woman opened her arms, going eagerly into her embrace. 

“Elizabeth! You look lovely. I see marriage agrees with you. You look very happy.” 

“Yes, it does, and I am… immensely so.” 

“That’s good to hear. Now, toddle on back to your friends and leave this old woman to natter with hers. We’ll sit down and chat at some point this week.” 

“Right… I’m sorry to interrupt.” 

“Nonsense. I just don’t want to steal our hostess’ thunder by taking you away from her side. Now, off you go.” 

Elizabeth gave the older woman one last hug, then moved to rejoin Renee and Esme. She paused momentarily in her tracks, stunned into immobility at the sudden sense of danger permeating her body. It was as if tingles were rushing up and down her back and neck, urging her to flee. To escape. A moment later, it was gone, as if only imagined, and she mentally shook herself before hurriedly returning to her hostess’ side. 

~*~*~*~*~

As the night wore on, Elizabeth steadily consumed the beverages placed in her hand. Her inebriated mind wondered when they were going to sit down and eat dinner, never realizing that here, the vampires had been eating throughout the night, availing themselves of the human flesh locked up several floors below her. 

She felt arms enclose around her waist and draw her back against a hard, lean frame and knew instinctively that it was her husband. She relaxed into him, grateful to have something sturdy to brace herself against. The several glasses of wine she’d had on an empty stomach were playing havoc with her equilibrium. 

“Little tipsy there, aren’t you, luv?” Spike murmured in her ear before sucking the lobe into his mouth. 

“Mmmm… ’s your fault,” she slurred as she ground herself into him. 

“Playin’ with fire there, pet,” he growled back. “And what’s my fault?” 

“’m hungry…when are we gonna eat? Doesn’t anyone eat at these things?” she complained. “All I’ve had tonight is alcohol… and alcohol and me? So much with the non-mixy.” 

And she proved it, by nearly falling in a heap at his feet. 

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled, grabbing her more securely about the waist and moving them towards what, he figured, were the kitchens. Hopefully, his host had kept some finger food around to appease his wife’s hunger. 

He pushed his way through the doors into the kitchen and wasn’t surprised when he saw several couples having sex in various spots around the room. The alcohol and blood had been free-flowing for most of the night and the amorous inclinations of the bunch had taken hold. He was just thankful that he had a private room secured for the duration of his stay. 

“Come on, pet. Let’s get a bit of fruit into you.” 

“M’kay.” 

Elizabeth grabbed the apple that her husband handed her, taking a huge bite of the fruit and chewing. She kept at it until nothing remained but the core, and started to feel marginally better with something in her stomach. 

“Have some grapes too,” Spike urged. 

When she’d eaten her fill, he had her wash it all down with some water, figuring any more wine would defeat the purpose of the food she’d just consumed. 

“All better now?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Good, then, come on. The fun’s about to start.” 

“Fun? What fun?” 

“The fighting kind.” When she gripped him tightly, he rushed to reassure her. “Nothing serious, pet. It’s just… it’s what we do.” 

She noticed the gleam in his eye, indicating his delight, as if he were looking forward to pounding on something, or someone. 

Her hand lifted, tracing over the sharp contours of his face. 

“You’ll be careful? I couldn’t bear it if something were to happen to you,” she whispered softly. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, love,” he chuckled, pulling her close. “Now come on. I’ll have you stand close by Renee and if it’s too much for you to watch, she’ll take you back to our room.” 

He led her to the ballroom where a crowd was already gathering. A couple of vampires were sparring, divested of shirt and shoes, clad in only their breeches. Various nicks and bruises marred their features but both were smiling, reveling in their skirmish. 

Elizabeth’s eyes remained transfixed on the fighters, their bare torsos gleaming with spilt blood. They moved around the room within the circle of the others, trading blows. It was violent, yet fascinating, and she found she couldn’t turn away from them as William pulled her along behind him towards where Renee stood on the edge of the mock battlefield. 

Spike saw the Slayer’s eyes on the two and smirked. He turned her towards him and lifted her face for a hard kiss before abruptly releasing her and turning away. He walked over to an empty chair and quickly divested himself of a good majority of his clothes, leaving nothing on but the dark breeches he wore. Cheers sounded behind him and he guessed that one of the fighters had won the round. 

He made his way back to the middle of the room where Marcus, his sire look-alike, stood waiting for him. The crowd quieted as the two circled one another, silently weighing the other’s skill. Spike knew he outmatched the other vampire, but decided to go easy on him to prolong the fight. 

But not too easy, he thought, and he moved in a blur to deliver a blow to the other’s face. He grinned, smiling at Marcus with his devil-may-care attitude. The other smiled back, eager to fight, even if he knew he was going to lose. 

Then it was on. Both traded blows, fists and claws digging into the other’s flesh as they moved about the room. The sounds of everyone’s cheers erupted around him, but he remained concentrated on the fight, holding back some of his strength and expertise as the two sparred. His demon gloried in the blood that was drawn, the sound of his fists meeting the tender flesh of his opponent.

~*~*~*~*~

Elizabeth watched William spar with Celeste’s brother, cringing at every blow that landed on her husband. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, not wanting to distract him and allow the other man to win. The man hit her husband with a lucky shot to the head that sent him reeling, and Elizabeth stood by helplessly as William easily picked himself up, vaulting to his feet with feline grace and rejoining the fight.

On and on it went, until she could stand it no more, her eyes staring unfocused so she wouldn’t have to see each blow that was delivered to her husband, hear each tear as another strip of skin was sliced open on one of them. 

The images began to blur and the figures changed. The tingles along her neck and back returned with a vengeance as a new scene overlaid what was playing out before her. The figure dressed in a long, black leather coat, red button down shirt, black jeans and boots blocked the punch of another vampire. This one was taller. Broader. Dressed in a similar fashion and struggling to defend himself against the blond-headed vampire as he rained down blow after blow upon him.

He looked her way and she gasped in surprise...

_Angel?_

Buffy glanced frantically around her. Her Slayer senses were going crazy. Her gaze darted about the room, taking in all the vampires clustered around her. 

What was she doing here? Why was everyone dressed so strangely? What the hell was going on? 

She directed her attention back to the two fighters and noticed that the dark-haired vampire wasn’t Angel and breathed a sigh of relief. Although similar in build, he didn’t move like Angel, and if she could hazard a guess, she figured that the vamp was a fledgling, and a young one at that, judging by the awkward way he defended himself against his opponent. 

Speaking of. 

Her eyes narrowed in concentration. His back was to her, so she couldn’t make out his features just yet. If he would just turn around…

_Spike?_

Spike looked up at the sound of his name. He glanced around, his gaze quickly seeking out the Slayer. 

Fuck! 

He took in her stiff posture, the fire blazing from her eyes, and knew that Elizabeth was gone for good. His anger that it was finally over, that he was once more dealing with the true Slayer, and a brassed off one at that, threatened to overwhelm him and in a fit of rage, he turned away from her and delivered a blow to Marcus that sent the fledgling hurtling against the far group of spectators. 

He swung back around, his gaze pinning her in place while all around him the others were cheering his name. 

Before she had a chance to move, to run away, he was on her, pinning her arms to her side as he buried his fangs in her throat. 

Buffy’s last thought before she faded to unconsciousness was that he’d done it. Spike had managed to bag his third Slayer. 

Then the world tilted on its axis and went black.


	25. Chapter 25

Spike feasted on the Slayer’s blood until he felt her go slack in his arms. He tore his mouth away from her throat, lifted her limp body up in his arms and made his way out of the hall and towards the room he’d been given for his stay. His departure was like a signal to the others, who broke off into much smaller groups to seek their own amusements. 

He ignored the congratulations of the vampires he encountered as he walked through the foyer on his way to the stairs – his only thought, to get away from everyone and secure the Slayer before she could come to and make a mess of the Powers’ carefully laid plans. 

Finally alone in his room, he stared down at her slumbering form before depositing her on the bed. His fingers worked over the fastenings of her gown, quickly divesting her of the garment and leaving her body bare to his perusal. His eyes took in the room’s décor, his gaze lighting on a wardrobe across the way. He moved towards it, anger still radiating from every inch of his frame that the fates had chosen _now_ for her to remember. 

His fingers gripped the handles, pulling the doors open to reveal its contents. Full lips curled into a smile at the assortment of torture devices it held. Grabbing several lengths of rope, he returned to the Slayer, spreading her arms wide and securing them to either bedpost. Once her arms were bound, he moved to her legs, tying them as well so that she laid spread eagle and nude upon their bed. He double-checked his knots, making sure that they’d hold – not that he had to worry too much. He could keep her in line by drinking just enough of her life’s blood to leave her in a perpetual state of weakness. 

Secure in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be waking anytime soon and attempt escape, he departed their room to retrieve his clothes and a bottle of liquor from his host’s study. As he moved down the hall and back towards the stairs that would take him below, the sounds and smells of the others filtered up towards him. He moved gingerly down the staircase, stepping over couples that couldn’t quite make it to the privacy of their rooms. 

In the main foyer, it was worse – regular orgies taking place among the masses. His cock hardened within the confines of his breeches as the sights and smells assaulted his senses. Several times someone wanting him to join in on the action grabbed him, but he shrugged them all off. There was only one person he wanted to dominate right now, and she was upstairs, bound and unwilling on his bed. He finally located his clothes, lying untouched on the vacant chair, and he grabbed them, throwing them haphazardly over his shoulder as he moved off towards the study. 

He stepped inside the room, breathing a sigh of relief that, at least here, he wasn’t witness to all the things he’d like to be doing right now. As if by some silent agreement, the host’s study was off limits to the carnality of the group. A few of the more bookish-type vampires sat reading in the chairs scattered about the room, ignoring the noises seeping under the door from all the action taking place beyond. Spike crossed to the bar, snagging a full bottle of scotch to take back with him to his room. He ignored the glasses stacked on top, figuring that he didn’t need to bother with the civility of drinking from a tumbler when his sole purpose was to get drunk.

From the source would be just fine. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike slouched in his chair, his eyes never leaving the figure stretched out on the bed. One hand dangled over the chair’s arm, the half-empty bottle of scotch held negligently between his fingers. Every now and then, he’d bring the bottle to his lips, taking a huge swallow to numb his brain. 

_‘Knew it was bloody well goin’ to end, didn’t ya,’_ he taunted himself. _‘Now that the Slayer’s back you’ll no’ be hearin the pretty l’il words she’d cry as she came. No more callin’ out y’er name an’ beggin’ for ya.’_

He took another swig of scotch to drown out the inner voice mocking him. 

_‘Look at ‘er over there…think she’s gonna want you now? Her? The Slayer that kills your kind?’_

Laughter reverberated in his brain… Drusilla, Angelus, Darla – all mocking him for his stupidity. 

The bottle made its way back to his lips, his throat working as he finished off its contents before throwing the empty container against the wall with a roar. The sound of the glass shattering against the hard surface pulled a reluctant moan from the girl tied to the bed, and Spike staggered to his feet to make his way over to her. 

He couldn’t deny how lovely she was as he gazed down at her nude body. Her dark hair was fanned out on the pillow beneath her head; her taut body bore evidence to the strength hidden within her compact frame. His eyes zeroed in on the dark curls covering her mound. 

“Spike!” Buffy attempted to ground out, but her voice sounded weird to her ears, nothing more than a faint whisper. “What—?” 

His eyes lifted to her face and he couldn’t help chuckling at the fire in her eyes. Even bound and helpless, she attempted to flay him with her gaze. 

“Tell me, Slayer,” he asked cutting her off, perching on the edge of the bed as he trailed one hand up her bare leg. “What do you remember?” 

He chuckled mirthlessly when he felt her struggle against the bonds to try and escape his touch, her depleted strength no match for the coils of rope wrapped around her wrists and ankles. Ignoring her feeble protests, his hand continued up her body – watched with fascination as her stomach quivered beneath his touch, his fingers dancing along her abdomen. His hand moved ever upward, finally cupping her breast and rubbing his thumb back and forth across her puckered nipple. 

“You haven’t answered me yet, pet.” 

“Spike… wha-what are you doing to me?” she whined helplessly. 

“Nothing that I haven’t done before these past six weeks.” 

“No…” 

She struggled harder against her bonds, desperate to escape his touch. Her eyes widened almost comically as she saw him lower his head towards her bare breast. _‘Where did my clothes go?’_

“Oh, yes,” his husky voice confirmed. 

He sucked her hardened nipple into his mouth, delighting when she unconsciously arched into him. She may have forgotten these past few months now that her amnesia was gone, but her body hadn’t. Her body still craved him, his touch, the things he could do to her, the way he could make her feel. 

“Spi—” 

“Tell me you don’t remember,” he murmured around the plump flesh in his mouth. 

Buffy frantically shook her head, trying to deny his words. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, desperate to eradicate the sight of him suckling at her breast, how he used his tongue and lips to tease her flesh. Her teeth clamped down on her bottom lip to keep from keening her pleasure as he flicked her nipple with his tongue. She felt, rather than saw, his other hand skim over her body to lavish attention to her other breast and Buffy thought she’d die if he didn’t ease the ache he’d brought about. 

“Your body remembers, Slayer,” he purred. “Remembers every wicked little thing I’ve done to you.” 

Spike inhaled deeply, his eyes closing in pure bliss, smelling her arousal perfume the air. He licked his lips in anticipation. 

“No… stop… I don’t want this… I don’t want you,” she cried. She had to get away from his touch. She couldn’t let him do this to her. 

Spike removed his hand from her breast and plunged two fingers in her pussy. His eyes narrowed intently as she arched her hips off the bed trying to take him deeper. 

“Your body says you’re a liar, pet.” He pumped his digits repeatedly within her slick passage, grinning widely when she tried to grind herself against his hand. 

Buffy felt helpless as her body moved in tandem with his fingers. 

_‘Why am I doing this? Why am I letting him touch me like this?’_

The images came then, assaulting her mind as his fingers drove her to the brink of rapture. 

_“Come to me,” she whispered._

_With a groan, he lowered his fangs to her neck, piercing her delicate flesh. He bit deep, knowing that he was hurting her. But, he was marking her, stating his claim for the world to see… and heed. This mark would last forever. His claim sealing her fate, her life, to his for all eternity._

_She cried out as his fangs went deep, deeper than before. Then, he began to suck her blood into his mouth, and she was undone. Each pull of her blood caused an answering throb where he was steadily sliding in and out of her. Then, he took one last deep pull from her neck and she was lost. Exploding into a thousand pieces, the dual penetration too much for her to bear._

_“Spike!” she bellowed._

_“Mine! Say it!” he commanded, having ripped his fangs from her neck, her blood coating his lips. He stilled within her, waiting._

_“Yours. Now and forever,” she answered instinctively._

She remembered each time he’d taken her afterwards, how he played her body like a skilled musician and she, his willing instrument. Remembered every party she’d attended, her chaperone, the friends she’d made. 

She remembered how he’d comforted her over her “parents’” death, her eyes softening in memory. Who knew he – a vampire – could be so caring? 

Her eyes widened in shock as the details of her wedding played out in Technicolor before her eyes. She’d married Spike? Buffy glanced at her left hand – sure enough, there was a ring on her finger, a beautiful one at that. Images of her honeymoon, the carriage ride to his country estate, came to her. 

_“Anything we do together is right, Elizabeth.” He pulled her up off her knees and into his lap. With an unusual display of gentle affection, he pulled the pins from her hair, allowing the dark locks to cascade down her back. His fingers cupped her jaw, pulling her down to him for the barest of kisses – no more than brushing his lips lightly back and forth across hers._

_Her eyes closed as he coaxed her head toward his, but they opened now, tears swimming in her eyes as she looked at her husband. A demon, but still a man, and capable of such emotion. As he kissed her with such loving tenderness, reassuring her with his touch that this was right, that they were right, her love for him burst forth until it threatened to overwhelm her, and she couldn’t prevent the whispered vow from escaping her lips._

_I love you._

“No! I can’t! I won’t!” she cried, frantic now to get away from him. To deny what she’d remembered. 

Spike lifted his head from her breast and stared at the Slayer. Seeing the recognition shining in her eyes, his gaze hardened. 

“Too late, Slayer,” he growled. “You’re mine… only mine.” 

“No…” Buffy struggled futilely against her bonds. She had to throw him off, couldn’t let him touch her like this. 

“Yes!” 

He moved suddenly, settling himself between her parted legs, her sex wet and dripping from his ministrations. 

Her head lifted, staring helplessly at him as his head hovered over her mound. 

“Wha-what are you doing?” she squeaked. 

His rakish gaze pinned her in place and he licked his lips in anticipation. Slipping his hands beneath her ass, he lifted her hips and lowered his head to flick his tongue over her clit. 

“Spike!” the Slayer bellowed, straining against her bonds for an entirely different reason now. 

“More?” he asked quirking his brow at her. 

Buffy nodded helplessly, her protests gone by the wayside as his tongue laved at the bundle of nerves between her legs. 

“Say it!” he commanded. 

She shook her head refusing to give in to his demands. And instantly regretted it as his tongue drove her to the brink of ecstasy again and again, but never any further. At some point her tears started, her body unable to handle the exquisite torture he delivered. 

“Had enough, Slayer?” he ground out, easing off her to allow her body to relax a moment before beginning again. He rose, quickly shucking his breeches then settled between her outstretched legs once more. 

“Please… n-no… no more…” she begged. 

“Tell me,” he demanded. 

“I… I can’t…” 

“So be it!” he snarled. 

Spike surged up her body, burying himself to the hilt with one powerful thrust. Beneath him, the Slayer strained against the ropes binding her in place. 

“Spiiiiiike!!” 

His arms slipped beneath her back to cup her shoulders, anchoring him in place as he thrust into her. He cared not for her pleasure; he was punishing her, plain and simple. Her tears held no sway with him, only increased his ire that she was denying him. He felt her twitching beneath him, desperate to increase the friction and grant her some measure of relief, but he removed one arm from around her shoulder and held her hips in place. 

“No…” she cried. “Please… Spike… I need…” 

Spike ignored her, his hips moving for his own pleasure. His pace increased as if to lose himself in her body, trying desperately to chase away the ghosts that told him he wasn’t good enough, would never _be_ good enough. 

Buffy couldn’t stand it. Her body was strung so tight and the movements of Spike just heightened her body’s awareness that told her she was close.

If she just gave him what he wanted, he’d give it to her. 

She felt his head buried in her neck, his offbeat breathing tickled her neck and drove her just that much crazier. If she didn’t tell him soon it would be too late. He’d go there without her and leave her behind. Once more she pulled at the ropes on her wrist and ankles, but she was still too weak to do more than dig the coils deeper into her tender flesh. 

She broke. 

“I’m sorry,” she babbled. “Please, Spike…” 

The Slayer was openly weeping now. Too far gone to care what she was telling him. 

“I’m sorry… didn’t mean it… yours… I’m yours… Spike… Spike, please….” 

The haze of his anger wore off at her confession and he stilled above her. He looked down at her tear-stained face and listened to her continued babblings. Spike eased from the Slayer’s warm body and easily sliced open the bonds holding her feet in place then did the same for her arms. She didn’t move afterwards, too upset to notice that she’d been freed. 

He returned to his spot between her legs and slid effortlessly back into her wet sheath. Lowering his head to hers, he began tracing his tongue around her lips until she opened her mouth to let out a slight moan. His tongue slipped inside, coaxing hers to respond. Spike groaned in pleasure at her first tentative touch, felt something akin to relief when her arms wrapped around his neck and held him tight. His slow, steady pace never wavered as he tore his mouth from hers and trailed his lips down her neck. 

“Slayer,” he murmured as his lips brushed back and forth across his mark. “Tell me you want this.” 

“Spike…” Her head lifted from the pillow, driving her neck closer to him. “Need you…” 

His face shifted and he buried his fangs in her throat. He felt her body spasm beneath him, her inner muscles clenching around his shaft as he continued to thrust his cock inside her slick passage. 

Buffy cried his name, completely undone by his bite. She crushed him to her, driving his fangs deeper. Her legs moved to wrap around his waist; her eyes widened as the new position let him even deeper inside her body. 

Spike purred his delight, feeling her move beneath him. He released her neck, his face automatically shifting back to his human guise as he returned his lips to hers. He’d taken enough of her blood already, his veins nearly throbbing with her sweet elixir as it rushed through him. 

His pace increased, the driving intensity of his thrusts moved her up along the bed until she removed her hands from his back and blindly reached over her head to brace them against the headboard. Their grunts and snarls mingled with the sounds of their bare flesh as their bodies came together again and again. 

Buffy was too caught up with the way Spike was making her feel to deal with the ramifications of her making love to a vampire, and an evil one at that. She shoved all the negative thoughts aside, feeling the holes on her neck zing to life when she felt his movements increase another notch. All she knew was that she needed him right now; she’d worry about getting home later. Figure out what had happened to her some other time. 

Her mind was centered completely on Spike, the way he moved inside her, how he seemed to just seep inside every corner of her being. 

Then she couldn’t think anymore. Her body splintered into a thousand pieces as his movements became too much and a second climax washed over her. His name burst forth from her lips, too far gone to temper the volume. 

“Slayer!” Spike shouted, seeking his own release. His hips moved spasmodically and he emptied himself deep within her womb before collapsing on top of her. His lips nuzzled her neck, his tongue flicking over the holes in her flesh to seal them closed. 

He felt her shift beneath him and he rolled them so that she lay sprawled on top of him. 

Buffy was too comfortable to move. The loss of blood and dual orgasms lulled her into a light sleep on top of her vampire. Her lips curled into a slight smile just before she drifted off. 

Hers. He was hers.


	26. Chapter 26

Buffy came awake with a start, pulled from a restful sleep by the warning tingles climbing up the back of her neck. Her head lifted from where it lay, turned to the side as she rested on something cool and hard. Not entirely uncomfortable, but not exactly the softness of the bed either. She felt decidedly lethargic, as if Giles had put her through her paces and then sent her out to patrol for the better part of the night. 

It took her a moment to figure out what it was beneath her. The memories slammed through her body then, eliciting a horror-filled gasp as she braced herself up with her arms, away from the creature she’d lain sprawled upon. 

Self-loathing filled her gaze as she stared down at the slumbering features of her enemy. 

No, not her enemy. Her _husband._

Spike. 

She was _married_ to Spike. 

Buffy scrambled off him, uncaring of her nakedness as she moved to put as much distance between herself and the vampire blissfully unaware – or uncaring – of his mortal enemy’s wakefulness. The edge of the bed wasn’t far enough away for her peace of mind, so she grabbed the coverlet that had been kicked to the floor sometime earlier, wrapping it protectively around her body as she slunk to a darkened corner of the room away from his prying eyes should he awaken and attempt to seek her out. 

She would have dressed and escaped the room, flee the prison that he’d brought her to, but the thought of walking amongst the multitude of vampires – that even now was being hammered home to her slayer senses – was not a quest she was ready to subject herself to just yet. 

Right now, she had no idea where she was. Only that she was alone, and at the mercy of a vampire that had boasted of bagging two slayers. 

As the helplessness of her situation washed over her, the tears began to fall. Self-pity wasn’t an emotion she normally indulged in, but right now, away from her watcher, her mother, her friends, Angel – she couldn’t prevent the sobs that wracked her body. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike woke to the feel the Slayer’s overwhelming sense of despair as it came to him through the claim. His eyes narrowed, realizing that she wasn’t in bed with him. Outside the room the sounds of his clan’s more amorous activities reached his ears and he inhaled deeply the scent of blood and sex lingering on the air. 

For just a moment he thought of saying to hell with dealing with the Slayer, leaving her to wallow in her guilt and shame. He could be downstairs right now, participating in the sex-fest with the others of his clan, gorging on the human flesh just waiting to die at their hands. Instead of being here, locked in a room with a brassed off, confused Slayer – one that wanted nothing to do with him now that she’d gotten her memories back. The bloody bitch. 

His eyes turned unerringly towards her. Images danced before his eyes… the Slayer, babbling her apologies, validating his claim. 

Now that the sexual tension was gone, she was once more the bitch he loved to hate. 

And, right now, he did. Hated the powerful creature huddled in the corner like a whipped dog, her body shaking with shame as she cried those bloody tears. Once more the rage he’d barely managed to conceal flared to life, a spark set to dry timber, threatening to engulf him in flames. 

Spike sat up in bed, every muscle in his body taut with fury that suddenly overcame him. He was so close to saying, “sod it all” and gifting himself with his third Slayer – he didn’t need the aggravation of dealing with her in all her righteous indignation. If anyone had the right to be angry, it was he. _He_ was the one that had to go against everything he was and claim her. And not just that, oh no. Powers coerced him to bloody well marry the chit too. 

It was enough to make him want to drive a stake through his own unbeating heart. 

He stood, stalking towards the Slayer in all his naked glory, intent on doing just that. Was halfway there when he felt another presence at his back. Quicker than the blink of an eye, he turned and confronted this latest threat… 

…and stared in shock at Doyle. 

_What the hell?_

He must have voiced his thoughts out loud because Doyle opened his mouth and spoke. 

“Don’t look at me, man! I was minding my own business, sleeping the sleep of the well-inebriated when I was whisked from my bed and plopped in your room,” he grumbled. “And, would you mind putting some clothes on? I could do without the visual, thanks.” 

Spike snorted and walked towards where he’d kicked off his breeches earlier, pulling them on over his bare legs and fastening them about his hips. 

“Wanna tell me what you’re doing here, mate?” he groused, leaning against the bedpost, arms crossed over his chest. 

Doyle rolled his eyes at the vampire, taking in the huddled form of the Slayer before plopping in one of the chairs in the room. 

“Well, it seems your more amorous pursuits earlier this evening have resulted in the Powers having to step in and do some mind-altering mojo. Something they’re not thrilled with, by the way,” he broke off seeing the vampire’s eyes narrow on him. “Hey, just the messenger here. And, not willingly, I’ll have you know.” 

“Get on with it,” Spike growled, more at the situation than at the man that had become his reluctant friend these past weeks. He knew Doyle’s chain was being jerked by these so-called Powers, just like his own had been. 

“Yeah… anyway. Guess with the erm… enjoyment, I guess you can say… your uhh, shout was heard by several of your brethren causing the Powers to do that mind-altering spell. Something they didn’t like doing because they’d already had the cloaking spell to prevent vamps from sensing her in the first place.”

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy lifted her head from her knees when it dawned on her that Spike was talking to someone else. She squinted in the near-dark room and tried to make out the image of the man reclined casually in the chair. 

“… powers to do that mind-altering spell. Something they didn’t like doing because they’d already had the cloaking spell to prevent vamps from sensing her in the first place.” 

She couldn’t process most of what he’d said after hearing “Powers.” 

The Powers were behind this? 

Buffy lurched to her feet, dragging the coverlet more securely around her naked frame as she marched towards the two men. Gone was the lost, weeping girl. In her place stood a royally pissed off Slayer. 

She’d had about enough of this! She wanted to know what was going on.

And now.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike felt the Slayer move towards them and couldn’t prevent his lips from twisting into a smirk. He didn’t halt her progress, for once she was directing all that piss and vinegar on someone other than yours truly, so he just stayed where he was and watched the show. 

And she didn’t disappoint, laying into Doyle with all the righteous indignation she could muster, blasting him with her fury, demanding to know who he was and what the hell was going on. 

She’d even cussed. 

His smirk transformed itself to a grin before he could stop himself. Doyle was trying desperately to field the Slayer’s rapidly fired questions, frequently shooting him pleading looks for assistance. Spike kept mum, watching the Powers’ emissary flounder like a fish out of water as he attempted to explain what had happened to her.

“So you’re saying that Ethan Rayne is responsible for this? Me being here… in the past?” 

“Yes.” 

“And, you’re the spokesperson for these ‘Powers that Be’?” 

“Erm… yes.” 

“Well, as this so-called spokesperson, you mind telling me why they haven’t fixed it yet and sent me back home?” 

“See, that’s the thing,” he stammered, eyes darting back and forth between the vampire and Slayer. Damn, he hated his job sometimes. “They don’t want to interfere, any more than they already have.” 

“Bullshit,” Buffy ground out, masking her shock at her foul language. But she was pissed and something about the guy’s words didn’t seem to ring true. 

“Uh…” _Oh, fuck! Now I’ve got Spike’s interest too. This night was quickly going from bad to worse._

“There’s no way you can tell me that these stupid Powers, or whatever you want to call them, can’t just wave their magic wand and send me home,” she argued. “What is it you’re not telling me? And trust me; I’ll know if you’re lying.” 

Her eyes narrowed on him, promising retribution if he didn’t come clean. 

“Hell… look… it wasn’t my idea. I really _am_ just the messenger.” 

Doyle stood, putting the chair between him and the Slayer. He glanced over at Spike to see his eyes narrow as well. There was no way he was going to get out of this room with his hide intact. Especially after he told them that they could have been returned home rather easily, but that the Powers had been adamant about having the legend come true. That they’d taken the warlock’s mischief spell and manipulated it for their own purposes. 

No, they weren’t going to be happy. Maybe he’d leave that part out of his explanation. 

He watched as they moved to stand side by side, neither aware that’d they instinctively formed a united front against him. Guess the Powers knew what they were about after all. 

There was no easy way around this. He was just going to have to come right out and say it. 

“You both are here to fulfill your destiny.”


	27. Chapter 27

Doyle had to admit, laughter wasn’t quite what he was expecting. At the very least, he’d expected shouts, and cussing, with the bulk of the foul language coming from the vampire. His worst-case scenario involved him being pummeled to death, again, at the vampire’s hands. But there they stood, laughing as if he’d just told the punch line to a rather funny joke. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. 

And waited. 

What he’d said hadn’t been _that_ damn funny. Not that it had been funny at all, but he could see why they were laughing. It wasn’t every day that someone claiming to be a messenger of the almighty Powers revealed to you that you had a destiny to fulfill. But still! This was no laughing matter. Things had happened for a reason. 

“It wasn’t a joke. I really don’t see what’s so funny. It’s true,” Doyle finally announced, cutting short their merriment. He’d been rudely interrupted from a sound sleep and their laughter at his expense was starting to grate on his nerves. 

Buffy stopped chuckling and glared at Doyle. 

“Right, because I get sucked into some alternate dimension where vampires are the norm and I’m not supposed to think it’s funny. Oh, and let’s throw in some destiny crap for added good measure.” 

“It’s not an alternate dimension. It’s the past,” Spike commented. 

“Sure seems like it to me,” she argued back. “And when I want your two cents, I’ll ask for it.” 

“Look, Sla… Buffy,” Doyle began. 

The growl overrode whatever he’d been about to say. 

“You bitch,” Spike snarled, stalking towards her. 

She stood her ground, refusing to back down. He was a vampire; she needed to remind herself of that fact. So what if they were married. It wasn’t real. None of this was real. As soon as she got back to her own time, this whole nightmare would cease to exist. 

“Spike. Now isn’t the time,” Doyle told the vampire. He really didn’t want to be here when these two came to blows. 

“Stay out of this, Doyle.” 

“Look… she hasn’t had time to adjust to all this. You’ve had months to get acclimated. Cut her some slack.” 

“No.” 

“Spike.” 

“Back. Off.” 

Spike tilted his neck from side to side, the bones of his face rippling as his demon came to the fore. He rounded the corner of the bed and moved towards the Slayer, determined to put her in her place. 

Buffy was scared, but she’d be damned before she’d admit it. Her eyes looked about the room for a weapon and she turned and ran towards the chair several feet away to break off one of its legs and use it as a makeshift stake. She felt Spike grab the blanket clutched about her body and let go of the gathered edges so she could keep moving. Ignoring the growl that indicated his increased ire, she finally reached the chair, snapping off one of its legs and turned to confront the pissed off vampire closing in on her. 

She assumed a defensive pose and waiting for a moment to strike. When he got close enough, her arm reared back, ready to deliver the final blow… 

“ _STOP_!” 

Buffy froze where she was, her nude body nearly vibrating with adrenaline. She couldn’t move. Why couldn’t she move? Helpless, she just stared as he came closer, her eyes going wide at the violence of his gaze. 

“Drop it,” he commanded. 

The wooden stick slipped carelessly from her opened hand. 

“Spike… wha-what have you… you… done to me?” she asked breathlessly. 

He stopped in front of her, blocking her from the other demon’s view. His arm snaked out, gripping her hair and bending her head back, exposing the long column of her neck. 

“’s not what I’ve done, pet. It’s what you’ve done.” He lowered his head and ran his tongue along her neck. 

“ _Yours. Now and forever._ ” 

“No…” She tried to shake her head, but her hair was held firmly in his grasp. 

“Do I need to show you again? You’re mine… ‘n I’ll not have you talkin’ to me like that. Even if you _are_ the bloody Slayer,” he murmured in her ear. The softness of his tone in no way disguised the menace in his voice. 

It sent a chill down her spine. 

“Sorry… I’m sorry…” she mumbled into his neck. _‘Why am I apologizing?’_

“Mmmm… yes. I can see that you are. Tell me, Slayer,” he whispered in her ear, his tongue tracing along the outer rim. “Did your watcher ever explain to you the finer dynamics of vampires?” 

“No?” came the rhetorical question at the slight negative shake of her head. He sucked on her bottom lobe, smirking around the flesh in his mouth when he smelled the heady scent of her arousal. 

“Tsk, tsk. How can you be an effective Slayer without having all of your weapons at your disposal?” 

“Giles… said… he said took one look at me and… and…threw out… threw out the Slayer handbook.” 

She bit her lip to keep from groaning as his fang pricked her skin. In a flash, his human mask was back in place, and blunt teeth and soft lips surrounded the small puncture wound he’d made. Buffy gripped his arms and her knees gave way when he began sucking on her neck. 

_‘Oh god.’_

She would have fallen to the floor, but Spike had looped an arm around her back and brought her body flush against his. The mini orgasm that swept through her body astounded her. God, he’d only been sucking on her neck! And yet, it had been enough to turn her legs to jello. 

A throat clearing sounded in the otherwise quiet room. 

“Bugger off, mate.” 

“Yeah, well. I’m ready to. Trust me. Although, I sense after this visit, you won’t be seeing me anymore, so I suggest you listen to what I have to say.”

_‘Oh god. How could he just make me completely forget about Doyle?’_

Buffy panicked, struggling against Spike’s grip, unmindful of the growl that emanated from his throat. She needed to put some distance between him and her… and fast. 

“Lemme go…” she begged quietly. “Please…” 

Spike’s eyes narrowed on the Slayer’s reddened face. Confusion, embarrassment, shame. He sighed unnecessarily, unsure why he relented to her plea. Maybe it was the way she’d sounded almost like his Elizabeth in that moment.

He walked her backwards towards the screen, shielding her body the entire time, and let her hide behind its protective barrier. He’d forgotten for a moment that she was human, still had those shy tendencies vampires discarded the moment they’re turned. He’d give her this reprieve since Doyle was here, and because he wanted to hear what the half-breed had to say. 

When she was hidden from view, he turned away from the partition and moved to grab a nightgown from the wardrobe. He remembered teasing her unmercifully while she packed her nightclothes, watched as she’d blushed at his comment about not needing the garments while they were here; not like she’d worn one since they’d been married. Guess the joke was on him, now that the Slayer was back in control. 

“Here, put this on,” he told her, shoving it into her hands. 

“I… thank you…” 

Spike nodded once before turning on his heel and rejoining Doyle on the other side of the bedroom, sitting down in the other chair situated in front of the fireplace. Neither said a word while they waited for the Slayer to get dressed and join them. 

Buffy glanced down at the garment Spike had thrust in her hand and quickly settled it over her head. The soft, pale material covered her from neck to toes, and she breathed a sigh of relief that she was somewhat decent. Not wanting to put off Doyle’s story any longer, she moved from behind the screen and walked over to the two men sitting before the fireplace. 

They’d taken the only two seats, leaving her wondering just where exactly she was going to sit— 

Until Spike grabbed her arm and pulled her down in front of him. She flopped onto his lap, instinctively wanting to protest, but visions of a repeat performance from early caused her to bite her lip against the retort just dying to spill from her lips. Glancing over at Doyle, she noticed he didn’t look repulsed by her actions. If anything, he seemed delighted for some reason. Weird. But his reaction, or lack thereof, made it easier for her to recline back against Spike’s chest and get comfortable. 

She still felt slightly uneasy sitting there on her enemy’s lap, so she suddenly became fascinated with her hands. Staring down at them as she fidgeted nervously with the ring on her left finger as she waited for Doyle to start talking. 

“Pull that off and I’ll beat you within an inch of your life,” he snarled softly in her ear. 

“Wha? No… I wasn’t…” 

Not mollified in the least, Spike lifted his head from the Slayer’s ear and barked at Doyle to explain himself. 

“Sla… Buffy. I’m not sure exactly what Spike’s told you, but things are a little different in the past. For one thing, vampires roam freely amongst humans in this time.” 

Her head shot up at that statement, astonishment clearly evident on her features. The latest altercation with Spike over the ring forgotten as she stared dumbfounded at the Powers’ messenger. 

“What? How? What about the Slayer?” 

“Different country entirely. Attitudes are different there… although, that’s going to change.” 

“Huh?” 

“Change. Change is coming. And soon. Within the next twenty… twenty-five years, Europe will join the rest of the world…”

“Whoa… wait! Twenty-five years? What do I care what happens in twenty-five years? I’m sure I’ll be home and all this will be history.” 

Behind her, Spike rolled his eyes at her inadvertent pun. His grip on her tightened almost imperceptibly, sensing where Doyle was going with his story. For now, he held his tongue. Figured he’d let the half-breed say his piece and hopefully allay any of the Slayer’s anxiety at their current situation – he really didn’t want to have to keep coaxing her to him night after night. Much better for her to just accept what had happened and lose that contrary stubborn position she’d clung to since regaining her memories. 

“I’m afraid not, Buffy. Your presence will be instrumental in the coming battle.” 

“You’re saying that I have to stay here? In the past? For nearly twenty-five years?” 

Doyle just nodded. 

“Are you OUT OF YOUR MIND?! I’m not going to spend the remainder of my life locked in the past. And, twenty-five years?? I’ll probably be dead in another two. Slayer here, remember? Short life expectancy…” 

“Spike took care of that for you,” Doyle announced. 

“What?” 

“He’s claimed you. You belong to him now.” 

“Come again.” 

Seeing her confused look, he explained. 

“You’re never going to get any older. Your face is never going to age. As long as Spike is alive, you’ll be alive. In essence, he’s gifted you with his own immortality.” 

Buffy couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d told her that Martians had landed on the moon and were plotting with the devil to take over the world. 

“So… so you’re saying, I’m _stuck_ here? Until whatever is going to happen in twenty-five years happens? Then what? Do I get to go home? What about my mom? My friends? Giles?” Angel’s name she voiced silently. 

Spike knew however, and once more that possessive growl kicked in. He’d be damned if she’d be mooning over the poofter for the next twenty-five years. 

“Time’s different here. Not sure if I can explain it right, but essentially, you’re the past. You’ve already happened. Everything you’ve done… everything you will do… it’s already history to them. So, your twenty-five years here? It’s like a drop in the bucket in your time.” 

She didn’t bother to try to understand that one. Right now she was so confused and wanted nothing more than to huddle into a ball until she woke from the nightmare her life had suddenly become. She curled instinctively into Spike, knowing he’d look out for her, that he’d keep her safe. Her eyes closed and she rested her head against his chest. She’d probably have questions for Doyle tomorrow. But, right now, she just wanted the oblivion of sleep to overtake her. 

“Nothing to say, Spike?” Doyle asked the vampire when the Slayer went silent. 

Spike’s look said it all. 

“Yeah, well, like I said. Just the messenger here.” 

“Guess this means you’re off for good this time?” 

“Think so. But, I’ll be stopping in from time to time. Keep you two on the right path. Besides, you play a wicked game of chess.” 

Spike snorted and glanced down at the sleeping Slayer. When he lifted his head, Doyle was gone.


	28. Chapter 28

Buffy sat in the middle of the bed in the master bedroom she shared with Spike. It was late – very late. She’d stared unseeing for several hours as the candles littered about the room slowly burned down to nothing, their soft glow and the roar of the fire the only light in the spacious room. 

Spike had told her earlier that he was going to his club and would be back later. He’d stormed out of the room with barely concealed anger tightly coiled throughout his body. On the one hand, she had been grateful to have the place to herself, silently telling herself that she was thankful he’d left her to her own devices, even if it were only for a little while. Even if it was a lie. Honestly, she didn’t know what to think of her situation. Didn’t know what to feel. The revelations shared by Doyle, the Powers’ messenger, had left her confused and floundering. His easygoing manner with Spike unnerved her. His lack of condemnation over her arrangement with the vampire confounded her.

She just didn’t know _what_ to think anymore. 

They’d been back from the vampire gathering for a week now. One long, torturous week spent twiddling her fingers in Spike’s study during the daylight hours while he slept upstairs, escaping his embrace as soon as she woke – guilt flooding every pore of her being as she relived the previous night’s debauchery while ensconced in her safe haven. The way he’d coax her to him with a look, a whispered command. Bringing her body untold pleasure once she capitulated, screaming his name and begging for him to take her. 

She would glance at the volumes of books lining the shelves about the room – a bittersweet reminder of home, and the school’s library. She told herself she stayed here while he slept to feel closer to home. Closer to her friends and watcher. Again it was a lie. Somewhere deep inside, she came here to be close to him. Like an invisible link she was drawn to him, and at least here she could be near his essence without appearing like she needed him. 

Her fingers played with the ring on her left ring finger, watching as the ruby caught the waning light of the candle, making the stone appear to burst into flames upon her hand. Again her mind drifted back, her memories more comforting than the emotion plaguing her being. 

She’d stayed locked in her room for the remainder of the gathering, and Spike had not objected. Although the other vampires couldn’t tell she was the Slayer, he’d not wanted her to socialize with anyone without him being present. Didn’t want her to inadvertently slip up and say something inappropriate now that the veil of her amnesia was gone. He’d told her that he’d let the others know that she’d come down with some slight affliction that had left her feeling under the weather. And she thought he’d taken perverse delight in letting her know her “friends” were asking after her, were hoping that she was feeling better soon and able to rejoin the festivities. 

She hadn’t, and after the week came to a close, she’d managed to escape into their coach without coming into contact with anyone else. 

Her head lifted from her silent musings at a noise she thought she might have heard. But it was nothing. Well, it may have been _something_. But, it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Spike. She was still alone. Sitting in the middle of the bed, nothing more than her thoughts for company. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy was still alone an hour later when she suddenly jumped out of bed. She needed to talk to someone and immediately visions of Renee sprang to mind. Agitation getting the best of her, she paused only long enough to grab a robe and drape it over her thin, gossamer gown before throwing open the door to their bedroom and racing down the steps. Her bare feet barely made a sound as she hurried across the hardwood floor, flung open the door, and ran out into the night. She didn’t stop to think about how she was going to find her destination, her mind solely on reaching the one person that could help her deal with what she was going through. In her frantic state of mind, she didn’t realize that times were different, and a woman alone couldn’t just race through the streets of London at night and ask someone for directions, especially garbed like she was. 

The supple material of her gown and robe hugged her lithe frame as she ran down the block; her long, dark hair fluttering behind her as the slight breeze grabbed the silken tresses and whipped them about her head. To the two men lurking in the shadows, she was a ripe plum just waiting to be plucked. They eased from their hiding place and set out after the girl. 

A block later, Buffy stopped. Her head turned one way and then the other in an attempt to recognize something familiar. Some small scrap of memory that told her she was on the right track. Anything that would say she was getting close to her destination. So intent was she on her objective, she failed to hear the men close in on her. 

The blow to the back of her head sent her to her knees. Before she had a chance to recover, she felt her body being dragged behind some nearby bushes. Their stench nearly overwhelmed her, enervating her muscles into pushing them off her. 

She was out of shape. The last six weeks she’d not lifted the first finger in self-defense, and her body was slow to react. Her coordination off as she tried to connect her fist to her assailants’ face. 

The angry growls came as a shock, and Buffy thought fleetingly that she was going to meet her demise tonight, and she laughed ironically that she’d not be around to see her “destiny” fulfilled. When the slimy hands of her attackers were suddenly ripped from her body, she glanced up and stared in confusion as two vampires quickly drained the lives of the men that had dared touch her while a third reached down to assist her to her feet. She stared at the demon’s outstretched hand, perplexed. Why weren’t they killing her? 

“Lady Arundel… let me help you. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone. Where is your husband?” 

“Renee,” she babbled, hysteria welling up inside her until her body began to shake with residual adrenaline. “Ren…Mar-Marchioness…Lady…Lady Haversham. Need… need to see… to see her.” 

Viscount Sotheby crouched down beside Lord Arundel’s wife, his arm sliding around her back to assist her to her feet. 

“Alric, run ahead and make sure Renee is in. James, find the earl and let him know what has transpired. He’ll probably be at the club.” 

“No!” Buffy yelled. “Just… just take me to Renee… please?” 

“Certainly, Lady Arundel,” Clayton soothed, guiding her to the street and walking beside her towards Renee’s townhouse. James had fallen into step behind the pair, but at a glance back from the Viscount, he slipped off and began his search for the master vampire.

Lady Haversham was indeed in, and she stood waiting on her steps with Alric as they came into sight. Seeing the disheveled human, she tore down the steps and quickly embraced the girl, soothing her as she began to cry. Renee looked over at Clayton, her brow arched in a silent question. 

“We found her like this, being assaulted by human riffraff.” 

There were cuts and bruises on her upper arms, the smell of her blood tantalizing their senses. 

“Come, Elizabeth… let’s get you inside, shall we?” 

Renee waved the two men off as she swept across the threshold, her pointed look leaving no doubts as to their next assignment. The earl needed to be found. 

Immediately. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy offered no protest as she was led upstairs into Renee’s suite of rooms.

Upon entering, Renee instructed her maid to draw a warm bath, and the two waited a few minutes until the servant reappeared with several men carrying buckets of steaming water to fill the tub. When they were through, she dismissed her maid and directed Elizabeth behind the screen and into the soothing water. 

The heated liquid enveloped her body as Buffy sank down in the basin until just her head appeared over the rim. She flinched slightly when she felt Renee at her back, but relaxed when she did nothing more than wash her hair and back, performing the lady’s maid-type chore as if it were an honor bestowed upon her. That minor task seen to, Renee left Buffy alone to retrieve a cloth so that she could dry herself off, draping it over the screen before turning away to find something for her to wear.

Although of the same build, Renee was a few inches taller than Elizabeth, so settled on giving her a replacement nightgown and robe. She’d have someone sent round to the earl’s home for a proper set of clothing, figuring the countess would stay the night here. Laying the outfit on her bed, she rang for her maid. The soft-spoken girl answered the summons within moments and quickly set about removing her mistress’ evening gown and undergarments so Renee could dress for bed. 

Renee had just finished when she heard the ripple in the water announcing Elizabeth’s departure from the tub. She thought her friend looked so lost when she stepped from behind the screen, her wet hair hanging about her body while she clung tightly to the cloth draped around her. Renee ignored the blush tingeing her cheeks and assisted her with getting dried off and dressed. Grabbing her hand, Renee settled Elizabeth upon the floor before the fire so that she could brush the girl’s hair to allow it to dry. 

Buffy closed her eyes at the soothing touch of the brush gliding through her hair, and she gave herself over to the gentle caress. If it weren’t for the tingling sensation snaking up and down her spine, she could have imagined that it was Willow sitting behind her calmly brushing her hair. She didn’t move long after the brush was removed from her head. Even though she was in a vampire’s home, was actually sitting before one in such a vulnerable position, Buffy didn’t fear her. Before she remembered who, and what, she was, they’d been friends. Close friends. Their bond similar to that of hers and Willow’s. It was why she had come, seeking out the woman even though she’d not been sure where Renee had lived. 

She needed to talk to someone. To share the feelings buried deep inside her. Elizabeth had trusted Renee with her darkest secrets. Buffy just hoped that she could do the same. 

Gazing off into the flames, her arms wrapped around her drawn up legs, Buffy’s whispered words seemed like gunshots in the otherwise silent room. 

“My name is Buffy. I’m… I’m the Slayer.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Renee sat there and waited. And listened. She could hear the girl’s heart hammering away inside her chest while she told her story. Everything about how she’d come to be here, her thoughts and feelings as she’s been “Elizabeth,” when her memories returned, and the visit from the Powers’ messenger. 

Through it all, she had remained quiet, letting the words spill from the girl huddled in front of her. When she was finished, when the last word left Buffy’s lips and she began to cry in earnest, Renee moved from her chair and sat beside her. Her arms wrapped instinctively around the sobbing girl, pulling her back against her body. That small act of kindness seemed to be the other’s undoing, because Buffy wept even harder, her grief so great, that at times, no sound seemed to emerge from her throat. Renee wasn’t sure how long the girl cried, but when Buffy finally wound down, she spoke. 

“Surely the fact that you’re stuck in the past for an undetermined amount of time isn’t cause for your tears. What is it that really has you upset?” Renee’s hand reached out and soothed the hair from the other girl’s face, urging Buffy to lift her head and meet her gaze. 

Buffy’s eyes met that of her friend’s and she was surprised at the compassion she saw lingering in their depths. 

“Why are you not attacking me?” the Slayer blurted out suddenly. “I mean, Slayer here…” 

Renee chuckled lightly, her lips turned up in a slight smile. 

“Well, for one thing, the earl would have my head if I laid a hand on you. And, well… you’re my friend. At least I hope you’re my friend.” 

“It’s just…” 

“I know… but, we’re alike, you and I.” 

“How?” 

The vampiress just looked at Buffy, her brow arched, and Buffy wracked her brain, going over every conversation she’d ever had with the Marchioness, her eyes going wide as she remembered the story of her turning. 

“You knew beforehand. Before you were turned. About vampires.” 

“Yes.” 

“And it didn’t scare you? Disgust you? To have feelings for one of them?” 

Renee’s eyes flashed amber, slightly darker than her natural color, before she managed to tamp down her rage. 

“ _That’s_ what this is about?” 

Buffy hung her head, surprised at the shame she felt at the other’s censure. 

“It’s just… he’s evil. You’re evil. And, I’m the Slayer. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have friends… vampire friends. But…” 

“But things aren’t what you’re used to them being, are they?” 

“No,” Buffy whispered. And therein lay the problem. 

“Is it the claim? Is that what’s making me feel this way?” Buffy asked. She was desperate for any excuse. Something that would explain away these burgeoning feelings she had for one evil, blond-headed vampire. Her husband. 

“You know the answer to that.” 

“But…” 

“What are you so scared of? It’s alright to love him. Elizabeth did. Loved him with an intensity rarely seen among the ton. Or vampires, for that matter. And, though you have your memories back, you’re still her. A woman deeply in love with her husband.” 

“But he’s _evil_ ,” she cried. 

“And yet, he’s claimed you as his. Has gifted you with his name and protection. Has done everything asked of him so far from these Powers for this destiny you two seem ordained to share.” 

Buffy’s mouth worked, opening and closing around thoughts that couldn’t be put to words. She stared at Renee, her young mind giving voice to all the teachings of Merrick and then Giles. 

“Things happen for a reason, Buffy. For you, you were meant to be here, with William. These Powers want you together. What more confirmation do you need?” 

Buffy couldn’t answer her. 

“Come… let’s get you to bed. Clayton and the others are out looking for your husband right now, and it’s safe to say that you’ll need to get what sleep you can. He’s not going to be happy when he shows up here.” 

Buffy nodded and stood, allowing herself to be guided down to the guest quarters. A fire was blazing in the hearth and she slipped between the covers allowing Renee to settle the blankets around her body. Without a word, Renee turned and left the room. 

“Renee?” 

The vampiress stopped at the door, glancing back over her shoulder at Buffy. 

“I… thank you. For listening. For being my friend.” 

Renee nodded once, smiling softly. 

“Rest, child.” 

Needing no further urging, Buffy snuggled into the pillows and closed her eyes.


	29. Chapter 29

When James arrived at Whitt’s he was dismayed to see that the earl had already left. He was just about to hurry towards Lord Arundel’s townhouse to seek out the master vampire when he was stopped by the gentlemen’s club’s butler and informed that he’d seen the vampire headed towards the docks. Grinning at the prospect of a fresh meal, even though his veins were still pumping with the blood of one of the men that had dared assault the countess, the young vampire set out after the earl. 

The sounds of a brawl reached the vampire’s sensitive ears, followed quickly by the scent of human blood. A smile lighting his face, James strolled into the dilapidated building; the faded sign swinging over the door heralding his arrival at _The Dark Pearl_. 

His eyes roamed over the fight playing out in front of him, the smile never left his lips as he punched a human in the face that thought he’d have an easy time taking him out. Grabbing the mug of beer in the man’s hand before he fell unconscious to the floor, James guzzled its contents in a few quick swallows then slammed the empty container down on a table. He didn’t bother jumping into the fray; the earl easily trounced all those that tried to take him on. Instead, he continued to lean up against the wall and watched the proceedings as one after another quickly met the master vampire’s fist, only to slump dazed to the dirty floor. 

A few minutes later, it was over, and James pushed away from the wall, stepping over bodies that littered the ground to make his way to the earl’s side. 

Spike stood in the middle of the tavern, surveying his handiwork. He’d come to the _Pearl_ for a little merriment and the barkeeper had recognized him immediately, word having apparently gotten round over his last adventure. Assuring the owner he’d take care of any damages, Spike had picked a fight with the meanest looking guy in the place. Soon, chairs and tables had been upended and fists had been flying. 

Now all lay quiet around him, and he moved to the fairly untouched bar to settle his tab. A mug was placed before him, which he quickly drank, and waited while the other vampire gained his side. He’d felt the other’s presence as soon as he’d entered, but had paid him no mind, too intent on working off some of his restless energy and the recent frustration at having the Slayer’s memories returned to her. 

“Having fun?” 

Spike quirked his brow in answer, a smile hovering about his lips. 

“Well, I hope you haven’t wasted all of your energy. I fear I’ve some bad news.” 

“What is it?” he demanded. 

“Not here. Come on. I’ll tell you on the way.” 

Spike turned and threw a sack filled with coins on the bar and hurried after the younger vampire. Soon the two were racing back towards the Marchioness’ townhouse as James told him what had transpired a short while ago. 

“The men?”

“Dead. They sealed their fates the moment they touched her.” 

Beside him, Spike grunted. He was pleased that retribution had been quick; he just wished he’d been the one to do it. The Slayer was his; it was his responsibility. However, he couldn’t fault the others. They’d only been looking out for one of their own. He was just glad someone had been there. 

The entire situation had him alternating between anger, worry, and confusion. Anger that she’d dared to leave the house unsupervised. Worry that she’d nearly been hurt, and by a couple of humans, no less – easy pickings for the Slayer. And confusion that she hadn’t fought back, hadn’t easily dispatched the two men that had tried to harm her. 

The two vampires raced on, their figures a mere blur at the speed they obtained in their haste to reach Lady Haversham’s residence – neither being the least bit winded from the headlong run – not slowing until they’d gained the steps outside her home. 

“What did you do with the bodies?” Spike asked as he knocked on the door. 

“Just left them in the bushes. I’ll go see if Alric and Clayton went back to dispose of their carcasses.” 

“Good.” 

The younger vampire turned and left as the front door opened, revealing the Marchioness herself. 

“Lord Arundel, come in.” 

Spike stepped inside, his eyes briefly sweeping over her slight frame clad in only a nightgown and robe. 

“Where–?”

“She’s upstairs… resting. I was able to get her to take a bath and into some fresh bedclothes. She has a few cuts and bruises, but it’s nothing she hasn’t handled before.” 

Spike looked at her inquisitively, but didn’t comment. His eyes left her face to glance upstairs, towards the steps that would take him to where the Slayer was resting. Relieved that she was safe and relatively unharmed, he allowed his anger to take hold, his amber eyes flashing menacingly. She’d– 

“…isn’t that right, Spike?” 

Renee didn’t flinch when his head whipped around from where he’d been burning a hole in the staircase as he’d allowed his anger to consume him, his fierce look pinning her in place. 

“What did you say?” he asked incredulously. 

“I said, as the Slayer, she’s seen a lot worse.” 

“She _told_ you?” 

“Yes. Buffy is my friend. She needed someone with whom to talk. Someone who would listen to her, maybe understand a little of what she’s feeling. She’s confused. And, alone.” 

Renee paused at his growl, grinning inwardly at his possessiveness. _‘He needs to just tell her how he feels.’_ But, she didn’t voice the thought aloud. 

“She cares about you. She’s just having a hard time reconciling the Slayer’s feelings with Elizabeth’s. She’s not used to seeing things in so concrete a manner. It’s going to take some time.” 

Spike stared at Renee. That she’d dare speak to him like this. Yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to say anything, do anything. And, that shocked him more than her words. 

“She’s upstairs waiting for you. Take a right at the top of the stairs. Last door on your right… not that you need my directions.” 

With that parting shot, Renee climbed the steps and sought out her own room. 

Spike remained rooted to the spot, his eyes lingering on the top of the stairs where Renee had disappeared out of sight. His mind mulled over what she’d said. He couldn’t believe the Slayer had told the Marchioness who she was, _what_ she was. Had told her everything. Including them being swept back in time. Spike didn’t know what to think. 

It appeared, though, that Renee had not cared one way or the other. Didn’t seem inclined to divulge the information either. She was different. If he were honest, several of the vampires he’d met over the past month seemed different. As if they’d mastered their demon. Maybe not mastered, so much, as reached an understanding. That confused him. To have such restraint, and most were still fledglings. What had happened throughout history to cause them to regress to such a state? To kill without thought from the moment they were rebirthed? Maybe it had something to do with what Doyle had told them. 

He pushed the thoughts from his mind. He had a wife to see to, and he felt calm enough, now, to enter the room without beating her for the scare she’d given him. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

_Buffy was twirling around the gym floor with several other couples at the impromptu Halloween dance Sunnydale High had put together. Her red skirts flared out behind her as Angel moved them about the room. Even in her heels, she felt tiny next to him, like a child dancing with her father. He didn’t feel right, his too large frame overwhelming rather than fitting._

_Her eyes scanned the crowd, ignoring the look of disappointment and anger being sent her way by her dance partner. She couldn’t find who she was looking for, and reluctantly settled back into Angel’s relaxed embrace._

_When the vibrations began around the invisible marks upon her neck, she smiled in relief. He’d come! Her head darted frantically back and forth, trying to get a glimpse of him. Again her search came up empty, but she was comforted by his presence. The song came to an end and she pulled out of Angel’s arms, ignoring his grasping hands, his protests. She hurried away, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the floor as a new song began. Their song. It was their song playing. She had to find him… now._

_The thought no sooner forming in her head than she felt leather arms circle her from behind, pulling her body back against his. She sighed, happy that he’d found her._

_“Dance with me, William.”_

_She found herself abruptly turned around, the breath nearly taken from her when she slammed into his chest. Lifting her head, she noted the ridges on his brow, his yellow gaze harsh as his eyes bore into hers. He was upset with her, because she’d been dancing with Angel. Her fingers rose to his face, ghosting over the bumps in a soothing gesture._

_“I love you,” she told him, knowing that it was what he needed to hear to rid himself of any lingering doubt he may harbor._

_His demon melted away, and this time the breath was taken from her as his lips swooped down to claim hers. Her mouth opened at his urging, his tongue slipping inside to take possession of her mouth, staking his claim for all those present. Buffy didn’t care. She was where she wanted to be, locked in the arms of her lover and husband, his hands roaming over her body as his tongue plundered her mouth again and again._

~*~*~*~*~ 

_“Dance with me, William.”_

Already hard with the need to reclaim the Slayer, to wipe away the scent of the men who had attacked her still clinging to her skin, her sleep-induced words drove him over the edge. He quickly divested himself of his clothes, uncaring where they landed, his gaze never straying from her unmoving form on the bed. When he was finished, he slipped between the covers and pulled her roughly to him, staring down at her slack features and finding the feel of her silken gown against his bare flesh oddly arousing. Her hands lifted and slid along the ridges of his brow, and he leaned into her touch, delighting as his erogenous zone was caressed. 

_“I love you.”_

His demon features slid away and he swooped down over her upturned face, claiming her lips. She responded in her sleep, her arms wrapping around his neck, her mouth parting beneath his questing tongue. 

~*~*~*~*~

The dance floor disappeared and she was suddenly on a bed, wrapped in the arms of her lover. As they lay on their sides, she felt one cool hand slide up her leg beneath her gown and drape it over his thigh. She strained to get closer to him, wanting to align her body against his, thrilling as her mound came into contact with his burgeoning erection. Moaning into his mouth when the tip of his cock brushed over her outer folds. 

Spike tore his mouth from hers and Buffy gulped in some much-needed air while he trailed his lips down her jaw and neck, nuzzling her with his blunt teeth. Her head fell back as he teased the mark upon her flesh, wrapped her arms tighter about his neck to hold him in place. 

“Yes…” she hissed and he bit harder, yet still managing to not break the surface. “William.” 

His name was a plea, an entreaty for more. She needed him. Would always need him…

“Look at me, Slayer.” 

The words penetrated her haze and her lashes fluttered open to stare up into the deep blue of William’s. Spike’s. Still half asleep and emotions unguarded, her eyes proclaimed the love she felt for him. 

Spike saw, however. The tender regard she held for him blazing within their depths. A twist of his hips and he was buried in her velvety heat. Passion ignited between them, her pupils dilating as he began a slow rhythm in and out of her body, blanketing the love he’d seen in her eyes before they’d drifted shut. But, it didn’t bother him. He could feel it in the way she held him, moved against him, her delicate touch as it roamed over his body telling him how she felt, the words she couldn’t voice just yet. 

It would come. And for once, he found the patience to wait, rather than force her to admit it. 

He continued his unhurried movements, even as the Slayer begged him for more. Their climax, when it hit, was like an endless wave of pleasure simultaneously washing over them both. As the last shudder passed through their respective bodies, he stilled, hips lying flush against hers as they remained on their sides, his cock gloved within her tight passage. 

Neither moved nor spoke, lying still within the other’s arms. 

As the sun began its steady rise into the sky, they slept. Words would come later.


	30. Chapter 30

Only half awake, Buffy lay nestled in the cool embrace of her husband. She didn’t move to pull away from him, not wanting to wake him just yet. She remembered drifting off, his cock still tightly sheathed within her body. The feeling of rightness that had settled over her, even if it had been so wrong. 

Only _had_ it been? 

Emotions in an uproar, Buffy lay still, her mind going over everything she’d ever been told. By Merrick. By Giles. And even the Council. Everything she’d been taught to believe, what she knew in her heart to be true. Comparing it with what she’d recently been told by Doyle, the Powers’ messenger, and what brief glimpses of life she’d managed to witness thus far in this time period as Elizabeth. She just couldn’t seem to reconcile everything, every teaching, with what was happening now. Here in the past. 

Throw Spike into the mix, and she was just more confounded than ever. Here he was, a master vampire looking to bag his third Slayer. No doubt would have managed the feat when she’d been affected by the spell on Halloween. Now she was married to him, claimed by him. Accepted into the Aurelian house as one of their own and treated like a revered member because of that claim. No matter that she was human. And the Slayer.

Not that they knew she was the Slayer, she remembered that much from Doyle’s announcement. But still. Confusion, she could safely say, didn’t even begin to cover the tip of the iceberg. 

She just didn’t know what to think. To believe. To feel. Was she just supposed to discard her teachings, her Slayer nature? Embrace her so-called destiny? Her reason for being here? 

Buffy shifted slightly, her internal debate manifesting itself into a slight tensing of her body. Behind her, Spike stirred in his sleep, arms tightening about her frame. Pulling her close and nuzzling her neck. With him asleep like he was, she luxuriated in the comfort he unconsciously gave her. Found no shame in doing so.

Why _did_ it have to be shameful? 

_“What are you so scared of? It’s alright to love him. Elizabeth did. Loved him with an intensity rarely seen among the ton. Or vampires, for that matter. And though you have your memories back, you’re still her. A woman deeply in love with her husband.”_

Why _was_ she so afraid? She’d as much as been told that she was here for a reason. With Spike. Claimed by him, for all vampires to know and heed. Married to him, so that humans alike could do the same. What more did she want? Need? 

_His love._

The thought came unbidden just then. Two tiny words. Something that would have her throwing caution to the wind and embracing this life. Her destiny. She knew he was capable of it. Renee was proof of that. This past week, she could almost see evidence of it. The way he touched her. Late at night after she’d spent hours waiting up for him. The fierce possessiveness that thrilled her even while it scared her. The way he could make her feel at just a look, a slight touch of his hand upon her bare skin, or when he buried his fangs so deep into her throat she thought she’d surely die from the pleasure. 

Was that what held her back? A desire to see him as lost as she? As deeply in love with her as she suspected, even now, she was with him? 

She mulled over that thought for a moment. Could she allow herself to love him if he were to feel the same way? Her mind said no. That he was evil, would always _be_ evil. But her heart? Well, that was another matter. It told her she was too late.

For she already did. 

Without the strictures of the present she’d been allowed to just be herself. To be just a girl. A normal girl, albeit, in a different time, and not so much with the normal since she’d been claimed by a vampire. But she’d had none of the moral code of the Slayer holding her back. She’d loved because she’d wanted to, as if some part of her, buried deep within her psyche had told her that she and Spike were meant to be. She’d run with that knowledge, allowed her feelings to grow until they’d finally culminated into everything she’d secretly wanted. To be loved. To belong. 

Thrust into the past, she didn’t have to see the condemnation and revulsion on the faces of her watcher, her friends, or Angel, at the mere thought of her loving the enemy. Instead, she was surrounded by people, human and vampire alike, that encouraged the match. True, the human upper crust had no idea that they walked amidst the undead. A situation she’d still to wrap her head around. But there’d been no pointed looks behind whispered hands. 

Stranger still was the fact that last night, she’d been rescued by her vampire family, as if it were a given that they’d help her. They’d leapt to her defense when she’d been too shocked to fight back, to thrust her assailants off her like so much rubbish. It was just one more thing that weighed on her mind. How they’d exhibited more concern for her welfare than their human counterparts that had wanted to do nothing more than violate her body. 

Buffy turned over, careful not to disturb Spike while he slept. Her eyes roamed over his features noting the scar on his eyebrow; the long, dark lashes; high cheekbones that appeared etched from marble; soft, full lips turned down slightly as he shifted to resettle himself around her body. Her fingers longed to follow the same path, yet she didn’t want to wake him. Didn’t want to disrupt the peaceful moment. To see him wake with fury in his eyes because she’d left the house without telling him and had almost gotten hurt. 

Instead she burrowed closer, a happy sigh escaping her lips and brushing over his bare chest when his arms tightened about her, instinctively giving her the reassurance she needed. Snuggled in his arms as she was, she came to a decision. She wasn’t going to fight this. Whatever it was. Oh, she wouldn’t come right out and declare her undying love, wanting to shield herself against possible heartbreak. But she wasn’t going to turn him away, wasn’t going to deny him anymore. The Powers wanted them together, and that seemed like enough of a stamp of approval for her. Pleased with her decision, and feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, she smiled into his skin and allowed herself to be lulled back to sleep by the soft vibrations emanating from his chest. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy woke a few hours later when a maid entered her room. Feeling oddly refreshed after her ordeal last night and subsequent internal debate, she eased out of Spike’s arms, pulling the discarded robe around her nude body. She was surprised to see the girl with a complete set of her own clothes in her arms. 

“M’lady bade me bring these up to you,” the girl told her. 

“Is Renee… Lady Haversham awake?”

“Yes. She’s in the dining hall. If you’d like, I can help you dress so that you might join her.” 

Buffy’s eyes widened fractionally at that. She was going to have to get used to parading around in the buff in front of the servants if she wanted to fit in. Nodding her assent, she made quick work of the chamber pot hidden behind the screen before allowing herself to be dressed by the maid. It was a good thing she had the assistance, too, because she didn’t think there was any way that she would have known what went where. 

Twenty minutes later, her dark hair artfully arranged and garbed in a becoming light green morning dress, Buffy slipped from the room while Spike continued to sleep, hurrying down the steps to see her friend. The warning tingling sensation she felt on the back of her neck was more comforting than not, and if she concentrated hard enough, she was able to tell apart the slightly different signature that separated Renee’s from Spike’s.

_Interesting._

Pausing in the doorway, she waited for her friend to lift her head and acknowledge her presence. Her feet hadn’t made a sound upon the floor, but she knew that Renee had to sense her. Then she remembered. Doyle had said that no one would be able to tell who – what – she was. Her indrawn breath alerted the Marchioness that she wasn’t alone, and Renee lifted her gaze from the book she was reading to greet her guest. 

“Good morning, Buffy. Did you sleep well?” 

Instantly, Buffy’s face flamed in embarrassment. She sure had. Slept well, in addition to other things, that is. 

“Hmmmm, yes. I see that you did.” 

Renee smiled then, a knowing smirk similar to Spike’s, and Buffy’s face grew brighter. “I want to thank you…” she told Renee, gesturing to her attire. “…for the clothes.”

“No problem, dear. Couldn’t have you running home in your unmentionables, now could we?” 

“Erm, no. So not of the good.” Buffy laughed at the vampiress’ confused expression. Clarifying, “No, I rather suspect not.” 

“Ahhhh… yes. I forgot there for a moment. Do they really speak like that in the future?” 

“Ummm… no? I think I have my own special language. Books never being such a strong suit. TV’s, CD’s… that was more my style… and, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, now that I think about it.” 

“It’s alright. It will be our secret. Now, come. Sit. What would you like for breakfast? Or, should I say lunch?” 

“Normally, I’d say, ‘whatever you’re having’, but I’m going to go with a simple eggs, bacon, and toast,” Buffy joked. 

Renee glanced down at the cup and saucer in front of her and laughed. “I hear it’s an acquired taste.” 

The two women laughed, neither shocked at the ease with which they’d settled into their newfound knowledge. Renee was right. They’d been friends before, and with Buffy’s resolve to acclimate herself to her new setting, she saw no reason that that should change. Besides, it didn’t look like Renee was going to let her do otherwise. Moments later, her food appeared, and Buffy surprised herself by eating everything on her plate and asking for seconds. Her appetite had come back in full force, now that the stress and anxiety over her situation had abated. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

The two settled in the library after they finished eating, Buffy wandering around the perimeter of the room, scanning the books, while Renee sat on one of the chaise lounges and returned to reading. The sheer volume of books crammed into the shelves that lined the four walls of the room surprised her. Did everyone in the ton have a library this impressive? 

“Something specific you’re looking for, Elizabeth… I mean, Buffy?” Renee called out. 

“Honestly? No… Although, this…” she gestured to herself, “…isn’t really me. I don’t know if I can fit in here. I’m sure to misstep. Say something, _do_ something, that others might misconstrue…” 

“Or believe to be the eccentric whim of one of the ton. An ‘Original,’” the vampiress finished for her. Renee sighed then. A gesture so reminiscent of Spike that Buffy couldn’t help but smile. “You just don’t understand how sought after you are among the ton. And since many of your friends are members of elite society, the crème de la crème, so to speak, there’s nothing, really, that you won’t be able to get away with. Say even running about at night clad in nothing more than a nightgown? Although, you might not want to make a habit of that quirk.” 

Buffy moved away from the bookcase and sat down beside Renee. 

“That’s just the thing, Renee. In my time… I… well, I had a group of friends that did all my research for me. I couldn’t be bothered because I was the Slayer. My job was to _slay_ things, not read about them. But, this thing that’s coming… whatever it is... I don’t have that. I need to be prepared, both physically and mentally.” She lifted her head, eyes earnestly seeking those of her friends. “Will you help me?” 

“I’m not sure what exactly I could teach you,” Renee replied honestly. 

“Languages, what books to read…I don’t know. I just feel so helpless right now. I’ve gotta prepare for what’s coming. Yeah, I’ve got time. Some twenty plus years in fact. That should be enough time to give me a crash course, right? Oh, and… I want to learn about you. Vampires, that is. Your laws and customs. Anything that might help me fit in better. Say you’ll teach me… _please_.” 

“I’ll do what I can, you know that. Lord Arundel will—” 

“I’ll get his permission,” Buffy interjected quickly. 

“Alright. If he doesn’t object...”

“ _Thank you_!” Buffy gushed, throwing her arms about her friend. “Thank you so much!” 

Renee hugged the girl back, surprised at the bond they’d formed. The ease with which they’d seemed to get past their different backgrounds and revert to the friends they’d been beforehand. 

They separated, slipping into polite conversation as a servant entered with news that the Duchess of Sevring had arrived and was waiting in the drawing room. Buffy and Renee rose to greet her guest, the three women settling around the room, discussing tonight’s plans to attend the theater. They were soon joined by Celeste Devlin and Francesca Woodthorpe and talk turned to Buffy’s recent marriage and subsequent honeymoon, the four other women wanting all the gossip about what she’d done while she’d been away. 

There was an awkward moment when she didn’t respond when someone asked her a question. The name Elizabeth not jarring her from her silent musings. But a hand on her wrist to gain her attention, and a request for her friends to please call her Buffy quickly smoothed things over. Buffy was just thankful that Renee was seated beside her. 

About an hour later, the three women departed, citing their need to get home and prepare for the night’s festivities. Buffy and Renee saw them out with promises to meet up again later this evening. They’d returned to the library, seating themselves on opposite chairs when Buffy felt the first prickling at the scar on her neck. Nothing urgent, more of a nudge really. She ignored it for a moment, not quite ready to depart her friend’s company. Besides, how exactly did you tell your friend that your husband was calling you? Especially when she’d know what exactly he was calling you for. The second tug was a little more forceful than the first, causing her to stand up abruptly and babble to her friend. 

“Renee… would you mind… getting clothes… for tonight? Spike… uh, William. I think… I’m… uh…” Buffy pointed upstairs. 

“Would you prefer to just get ready here? I’ll have a maid sent round to fetch something for both William and yourself.” 

“Yes… yes… that would be fine. Um… you mind?” 

“Go,” the vampiress laughed heartily. “Remember what I said.” 

Buffy looked at her friend questioningly. 

“It’s alright to love him…” 

Buffy nodded, then was gone.


	31. Chapter 31

Buffy raced up the steps, lifting her skirts to make it easier for her to move. She needed to reach her borrowed room before she felt the next buzzing along her neck, not wanting to make Spike madder than he probably was right now.

Bursting into the room, she quickly shut and locked the door, leaning against the hard wood for a moment to catch her breath. Not that she was winded, per se, but the confining constraints around her waist did much to impede her ability to breathe deeply during her headlong flight up the stairs. Her eyes lifted and locked with Spike’s, trying desperately to gauge his mood.

Spike was leaning back against the headboard, arms folded across his bare chest, a fierce scowl settled firmly in place – not in the best of moods, undoubtedly. But he wasn’t yelling, which was promising. Before he could, she crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the bed near his hip.

“Can you help me with my gown?” she asked quietly.

If she had been looking towards him, she would have seen Spike’s confused expression. The slight trembling of his fingers as they lifted silently to the stays. Instead, she just grew nervous as his fingers practically tore her gown apart in his haste.

When the garment barely clung to her shoulders, she pulled away, rising to her feet and crossing to the screen to lay the dress over the top. Clad in only her numerous undergarments – which were still more than she’d wear on a normal summer day back in Sunnydale – she faced him again. His expression was unreadable and she wasn’t quite sure what to think, or to do.

_‘You can do this, Buffy,’_ she mentally told herself. _‘Women have been seducing their husbands for centuries.’_

Her nervous gestures came off as refreshingly innocent to the vampire ensconced upon the bed. His eyes followed her hands as she began removing layer upon layer of undergarments until she stood before him nude. Nearly groaned in agony when she bent over and retrieved them from the floor, her bare ass pointed enticingly in the air. Spike forced himself not to move, not wanting to spoil the moment.

It was the first time the Slayer had willingly initiated any type of intimate contact since the return of her memories, and he found himself curious as to what she’d do. How far she’d go. And he’d be damned before he let his rock-hard cock dictate his actions.

Buffy couldn’t put off looking at Spike any longer. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she turned around. Except for a slight quirk in his scarred brow, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

It somehow made it easier for her to close the distance between them. And if her hips happened to sway a little more than normal, more power to her.

She crawled up on the end of the bed, kneeling between his feet. Her eyes roamed over the smooth planes of his chest and abs, the defined muscles in his arms that were exposed to her gaze. Her perusal caused his cock to twitch beneath the sheet, and she found that she wanted to see him. All of him. Hands gripped the sheet covering his waist and lower limbs, and she pulled it down inch by agonizing inch.

Her eyes stared transfixed at the hard cock lying flush against his stomach. She’d touched it before. Tasted it. Found herself wanting to do it again. To drive him wild like the last time. She moved up his body, resettling herself closer to his crotch. His cock twitched again, as if in anticipation of her touch. As if it knew her intent, and approved.

One hand reached out, wrapping around his cool length, fisting it from base to tip and back again in one smooth glide.

Spike’s hips arched off the bed and into her hand, a hoarse “Slayer” hissed from his mouth. His hands fisted in the sheets so that he wouldn’t flip her over and pound her into the mattress as she continued her sweet torment to his dick. His eyes closed tight as she squeezed him, her thumb snagged the drops of precum that stole from the slit, smearing it about the head on her upstroke. Heaven. Her touch felt like heaven. Then her mouth…

God.

He had but a moment to feel the warmth of her breath before her mouth wrapped around his shaft, searing his flesh with her heat.

This time it was her name that was shouted. Part curse, part reverence. He couldn’t prevent his hands from finding their way into her hair, massaging her scalp as he guided her movements. He let her set the pace, not wanting to scare her off. This was her show. Had been since the moment she’d asked him to help her with her gown.

But, if she didn’t stop soon, the Slayer was going to get more than she bargained for this time around.

“Slayer…” he called out, trying to get her attention. She just continued with her delicious torture, employing her tongue along the underside of his shaft. _Holy fuck! When did she learn how to do that?_ “Buffy… please… wanna be inside you when I come.” His voice sounded whiney, but he didn’t care. He needed—

Oh fuck!

His little goddess of a wife was deep-throating him. Relaxing her throat muscles and taking him all in. He let her take him to the hilt twice before ripping her mouth from his cock, dragging her up level with him, his body heaving with exertion to keep from spilling his seed in her mouth. His eyes bore into hers, his passion-filled gaze leaving no doubt as to what he wanted to do with her.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy nearly purred in delight when she felt Spike’s hands in her hair massaging her scalp, his surprisingly gentle touch leading her movements, not forcing them. Any second thoughts she had about pleasuring him this way, fell by the wayside, allowing her to appreciate the taste and feel of his cock in her mouth.

She built up a steady rhythm, her tongue flicking over the veins along the underside of his shaft, silently thrilling as she felt his control slipping. It gave her a sense of power that she could do that to him, drive him to the brink. Experimenting a little, she relaxed the muscles in her throat and tried to take him all in, pleased when she found she could.

A moment later her mouth was ripped from his cock, and she was forcefully dragged up Spike’s body.

Had she done something wrong? She’d thought he was enjoying himself. Her eyes filled with tears, worried. She lifted her gaze, uncertainly, towards his, and nearly cowered at the lust-filled look she encountered. A smile transformed her features. She’d done it. Made him lose control. That’s why he’d pulled her away. Not because she’d done anything wrong.

She leaned down, their lips almost brushing against one another, before she veered off and moved towards his ear. Her tongue darted out, licking a wet path along the shell then teasing the orifice. Warm breath became a sharp contrast to the cooling moisture, and she felt him tense beneath her, hands gripping her waist hard enough to bruise. Her mouth closed around his lower lobe, teeth nibbling softly at the pliant flesh.

“Playin’ with fire, pet,” he growled close to her ear.

Oh, god, she hoped so!

Buffy moved away from his ear, trailing kisses and the occasional nibble along his neck, her body sliding down his as she continued her path. When her moist opening brushed against his cock, she mewled in delight. She couldn’t wait any longer to feel him inside her. Her tongue flicked along the hollow above his collarbone and she reached between them to grasp his cock, positioning it at her opening and quickly sheathing him within her body. Joint cries of pleasure permeated the room when he was fully seated.

Spike pushed away from the pillows, sitting up straight and pulling the Slayer’s body flush against his. Twin peaks ground into his chest as he lowered his head, a groan escaped his mouth to be caught by hers, and their parted lips fused to the other’s. He lifted one hand to the back of her neck, holding her in place as his tongue plundered her mouth.

As much as she enjoyed being kissed by Spike – and she had to admit, he was way better than Angel ever thought of being – she needed to move. Using her knees as leverage, she lifted her hips, not stopping until just the tip remained inside her. The position nearly disrupted their kiss, but before she could lower herself back down on his length, Spike shifted his hands to her shoulders and hauled her back onto his cock.

Over and over it went. Buffy lifting off, Spike slamming her home. When they could stand it no more, when they needed to increase their pace and reach their pinnacle, Spike flipped their positions and took control. Buffy lifted her legs, wrapping them around Spike’s waist as she strained against him. The bed creaked from his violent thrusts. Neither cared. Both were caught up in each other.

Their lovemaking was different than before. As if the wall separating them this past week had come crumbling down. They were like Elizabeth and William, only they weren’t. The emotions the two shared were present, only this time it was the Slayer and Spike feeling them. Expressing them. Bodies saying what words could not. At least not yet, anyway.

“Spike… I need…” Buffy whimpered. Her hands struggled to pull him closer, urging him to give her body that final release.

“Who do you belong to?” he rasped in her ear, blunt teeth nibbling along her neck causing goose bumps to pepper her flesh.

“I’m yours, Spike. Only yours…” she answered without hesitation.

“Mine!” he growled possessively and he allowed his features to shift, burying his fangs in her neck and sending the Slayer spiraling into orgasm.

“William!” she gasped as she came, arms and legs tightening reflexively around his body.

Spike groaned around the flesh in his mouth, and he thrust maybe a handful of times more before he felt his own orgasm wash over him.

When the last shudder left his body, Spike quickly released her neck and licked the fresh marks closed before collapsing on top of the Slayer. Not wanting to burden her too long with his weight, he rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him, his cock still buried inside her pussy. His hands roamed over her slick back, soothing her while her breathing and heart rate returned to normal.

~*~*~*~*~

“I’m sorry about last night,” Buffy whispered some time later. Probably not the wisest thing to say when she felt Spike stiffen beneath her. But, better to get it out in the open. A fresh start for them. Before he had a chance to blast her for her foolishness she blurted out, “I just… I needed to talk to someone… and… and Renee… only… I couldn’t remember where she lived.”

“Shhh… ’s alright, luv,” he murmured. He was still angry. Rightly so. He wanted to paddle her backside so that she couldn’t sit down for a week. But he wouldn’t. Part of the reason why he was so angry was because he’d been so damn scared. Scared that she’d been hurt. Or worse. When James had told him what had happened, his first instinct had been to kill the bastards that had dared touch his woman. His demon had howled in rage at being denied his vengeance, but that had quickly subsided, leaving in its wake a fierce need to see the Slayer, reassure himself that she was alright.

His unstable emotions were part of the reason that he wasn’t going to do anything. On some level he knew his anger was irrational. His growing feelings for the Slayer making him subject to rash judgments, and even more reckless actions. Also, things had changed just now between them. She’d placed herself in his hands, freely acknowledging his claim over her, and this moment was too fragile to ruin it by exacting penance for her misdeeds.


	32. Chapter 32

Spike stared at the Slayer’s reflection as she sat before the vanity having her hair artfully arranged by one of the Marchioness’ servants. She looked tired – most likely due to the fact that she’d yet to adjust to the evening social life of the Ton. Instead of sleeping the morning away to recover from the preceding night’s festivities like most of the upper crust, she was up with the sun – her occasional naps throughout the day doing nothing to renew her strength. 

With the recent shift in their relationship, and Spike could only assume she’d settled in and accepted the situation after their activities the past few hours, he’d have to start keeping her in bed with him while he slept. He didn’t like seeing her worn out. It made him feel like he wasn’t taking care of her properly. If that thought spoke too much about his softening emotions towards his wife, Spike just attributed it to the fact that she was his, and it was his responsibility to look after her welfare.

Anything besides— 

No, he wasn’t ready to go there yet. 

A self-preserving need to escape the delectable Slayer had him throwing over his shoulder, “I’ll let you finish up here, pet,” before he beat a hasty retreat from the room. 

Downstairs in Renee’s study, he helped himself to a drink from her bar, pouring several fingers full of whisky into a glass and throwing back the contents in one long swallow. When that did nothing to alleviate the directions of his thoughts, he poured another, and then another. 

He’d just poured a fourth when he was startled by the Marchioness. 

“We’re only going to the theatre, mind. No need to get sloshed before we depart. I hear this one’s quite good, actually,” Renee gently chided William as she walked into the room. 

Spike spun around, so deep in thought he’d not heard the other approach. Not responding to her remark, he instead lifted his tumbler, saluting her before sipping at the contents this time. 

“Is Buffy about ready?” Renee asked. “We’re dining with the Earl of Valasay and his wife before attending the theatre. Afterwards, I’ll drop you round your residence… or Whitt’s.” A delicate arc to her slim brow indicated where she thought he should go, but otherwise, her outward appearance showed no hint of her subtle nudging. 

“She was getting her hair coiffed and will be down directly. Valasay… they’re human, right?”

“Yes. You were probably introduced at Buffy’s come-out ball,” Renee replied. “I’m sure you’ll recall who they are once you’ve a face to put with the name.” 

Spike felt the Slayer draw near and glanced away from Renee towards the door. A moment later it opened and he was quite proud that he managed to prevent his jaw from dropping open in astonishment. When he’d left her, she’d only been wearing her undergarments, saving her gown for later, once her hair was complete. It was a good thing too, because right now he wanted nothing more than to throw her over his shoulder and haul her back upstairs. He closed his eyes and mentally counted to ten to calm his raging lust. When that didn’t work, he continued on to twenty. 

It didn’t help. Even with his eyes closed he could still see her. Her blood red dress as it practically molded to her slight frame, its color an exact match for the ring and necklace he’d given her. 

Renee glanced over at William and tried not to roll her eyes. Seeing Buffy fidgeting uncomfortably in the doorway at her husband’s lack of greeting, she took matters into her own hands. 

“Buffy! Aren’t you a vision!” she greeted her friend warmly, leaving William behind and crossing the room to where she stood. 

“Are you sure?” She glanced down at her dress. “Spi-William doesn’t seem to like it…” Her voice trailed off, somewhat hurt at Spike’s lack of greeting. Here she’d thought that they’d had a slight shift in their relationship. _‘Just goes to show you what you know,’_ she mentally chided herself. 

“Nonsense,” Renee told her. She leaned down, whispering in her friend’s ear, although she knew the other vampire would be able to hear every word she said, “Poor man is struggling with his desire to see you both back in bed, is all.” 

Her sudden blush matched her gown at Renee’s blunt words, but Buffy smiled nonetheless because her husband – _Spike_ – had liked her outfit. While planning her trousseau, she’d come across the fabric, had taken one look at it, and knew she’d had to have it. Mrs. Rothworth and Renee had exclaimed over the color, while a couple of the human ladies had blanched at the rich, vibrant red. She’d not been persuaded, however, even as Elizabeth. Had bought it solely with her husband in mind, something that would complement the jewelry he’d gifted her with. And she’d been eagerly waiting the day she’d married him so that she could put away all the soft pastels she’d worn, marriage allowing her a broader selection of color choices in her garments. 

She had Renee to thank for retrieving the dress for her. It wasn’t something that she would have consciously worn tonight, but in hindsight, it was the perfect ensemble. She’d wanted to please her husband when picking the fabric. By wearing it now, it proved – to herself at least – that she was ready to make a go of her situation. 

When Spike hadn’t said anything regarding her appearance, she’d become nervous and embarrassed that perhaps she’d read too much into what had transpired earlier. Her friend’s reassuring words had set her conflicted emotions to right. A conspiratorial smile came to her lips then, knowledge known the world over by women. The power they had over their counterparts by garbing themselves with a stunning outfit. Oh, yeah… 

She’d reduced the Big Bad to a quivering mass of need. 

It did things to her. 

Naughty things. 

“Buffy…” Renee begged her friend. “Dinner… let’s go. Lord and Lady Valasay are expecting us.” 

“All _three_ of us,” she added, in case the other two – who had started to feast on the other with their eyes – were left in any doubt that they were coming with her. Looping her arm through her friend’s, she all but pulled Buffy from the room, leaving William to follow. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Surprised at the Slayer’s reticence at entering the Earl of Valasay’s home, Spike was just about to ask her what was wrong when he noticed the other woman gush over his wife’s gown. Her fingers had been worrying the ring on her finger, turning it round and round, until Lady Valasay had greeted her so warmly. She’d relaxed then, smiling once more as the three of them were ushered inside the sitting room to wait for dinner to be served. 

It had only been later, when the Marchioness had gotten a moment alone with him, that he’d learned the truth about the dress. To say he was ready to forgo dinner and the theatre had been an understatement. The Slayer had had something created just to please him, and had worn it now as their relationship had begun a fresh start.

No one had ever done that for him before. Dressed purely for his pleasure. It made him feel warm. Cared for. Loved. 

And the ice that was encasing his unbeating heart thawed just a tad bit more. 

After the numerous-course dinner – which Spike would have been glad to see finished about halfway through, even if the food was delicious, the two men had retired to the earl’s study, while the women had wandered off to the sitting room. They’d shared a drink and a smoke, discussed business for a few before they’d both pulled a face at having to be dragged off to some play when they could be at their club. 

“The things we do for the women we love,” the earl commented, clapping Spike on the back, as he led him to rejoin the ladies. 

Love? No, not love? Not yet. 

_‘Did I just say ‘yet’? Like it was some forgone conclusion?’_

Spike stepped into the sitting room, his eyes immediately drawn to those of the Slayer. He took note of her softening expression when her eyes came to rest on him. 

_‘No…won’t love her. I can’t be love’s bitch again. I just can’t.’_

Renee watched Spike and wanted to give him a swift kick in the pants. If any two people were meant to be together, it was them. Stubborn. They were both stubborn; although, not so much with the Slayer now. She was more guarded, as if afraid of Spike’s rejection. But she was at least open to the possibility. It was the vampire she was going to have to work on, make him see that loving someone didn’t lessen his status. 

~*~*~*~*~

Within the security of his box seat, Spike stifled the sigh that nearly came to his lips. Beside him, the Slayer was once more sound asleep, her head resting softly upon his shoulder. The warmth of her skin scorched the length of his arm where she leaned against him. The swell of her breast as it brushed against him with every breath she took, causing his earlier lust to return. Though it had never really abated, not in the least. Every move she’d made since hearing the Marchioness’ story – the fingering of her ring, which he’d noticed she did when nervous, the gentle brush of her fingers across his mark, her smile and easy camaraderie with the Renee – just increased his desire to see her home. From the subtle looks she shot his way when she thought he hadn’t been looking, she wanted the same thing. 

To be home. In bed. Mouth and hands roaming over each other’s bodies. 

Spike twitched in his seat to relieve the pressure against his dick. He had to concentrate on something else. Anything that would take his mind off the sleeping Slayer resting so trustingly against his side. He’d just about succeeded, concentrating on the scene playing before him on stage, when he felt her shift, her body snuggling deeper into his side as she attempted to get comfortable. 

_‘Bloody hell!’_

Behind him, he heard the Marchioness stifle a laugh. He swore he’d have words with her for making fun at his plight. The utter cheek! His only comfort, knowing that she wasn’t immune to what was going on in the row in front of her. 

But still… 

Trying to get the Slayer to stop moving, he slipped his arm around the back of her, hauling her closer against him. She settled once again, drifting further into sleep as her body seemed to sense his secure embrace. 

Thankful that she’d finally gotten still, Spike stared at the play and allowed his mind to wander. To the intermission earlier, and the Slayer’s meeting with his “father.” The Marquess had naturally gushed over his daughter-in-law, insisting his son’s wife call him “dad” since she’d recently lost her own. Her eyes had welled up with tears at the comment, something for which he’d have to question her about later. He didn’t like to see her cry. His demon rebelled at the thought that someone had hurt what was his, confused because she seemed to be smiling through her tears while she nodded and blubbered out her affirmative to his father’s request. 

Her heartfelt response had triggered a spontaneous invitation from the Marquess for the two of them to join him for dinner tomorrow night. His wife had accepted immediately before turning shamefaced to him at her slip. Spike had just smiled and nodded his assent, unexpectedly happy at seeing her own hesitant smile in answer. 

Looking around at the masses that were clamoring for both of their attention during the short intermission, the Marquess had excused himself, his parting shot about seeing them on the morrow. They’d mingled until curtain call was announced then returned to their box to watch the second half of the play. 

Now, as the last note was sung and the sound of clapping filled the theatre, Spike heaved a huge sigh of relief that his torture had come to an end. Nudging the Slayer awake, he gained his feet. 

Finally! 

Now they could go home, and he could do what he’d wanted to do from the moment she’d appeared before him wearing that gown.


	33. Chapter 33

As soon as the gentle swaying of the coach began as it got into motion, Buffy started to nod off again. She really needed to work on getting her sleep patterns situated. This staying up half the night, only to wake at dawn, was starting to get to her. God forbid one day she started snoring at some ball, or other equally embarrassing situation. Leaning against Spike’s arm, she sighed dreamily and gave in to her body’s demands. Her eyes closing as sleep overtook her. 

Spike glanced down at the Slayer and snorted. Picking her up, he settled her body on his lap, allowing her head to rest against his shoulder. Couldn’t allow her to fall from her perch now, could he? 

Shortly thereafter, the carriage pulled to a stop in front of his residence. He shook the Slayer awake, setting her beside him so he could step down from the conveyance and assist her. Spike had to admit she looked rather cute half asleep as she was, almost would have tumbled face first out the door if he’d not been there to catch her. 

The Marchioness’ laughter at his wife’s antics caused his own lips to turn up in amusement, and he bade Renee good night, steering the Slayer towards the front door. 

Once inside, Spike swung his wife up in his arms, figuring it would be the quickest and easiest way to get her up to his room. The door seemed to open just as he reached it, his manservant awake and ready to assist him with preparing for bed. The valet, upon seeing his lord and lady together, knew instinctively that he would not be needed, and instead, just pulled the door closed behind him. Walking down the hallway, he poked his head in his mistress’ room and sent her maid off as well. 

Back inside the master bedroom, Spike laid the Slayer upon the bed. His eyes feasted on her form, the red dress that appeared to mold to her skin. He’d spent the entire night imagining this moment. How he’d rip the gown from her body and slam himself inside her as his lust consumed him, driving them both higher and higher until their bodies shook with their release. 

Seeing her now made him want to slowly peal the garment off her, piece by delectable piece, like an unexpected gift that he wanted to savor opening. His gaze finally lifted to her face, not surprised to find her wide-awake and watching him. As Spike’s eyes had roamed over her body, he’d heard her indrawn gasp, her increased heart rate, that signaled her growing arousal. But neither of those competed with the delicious scent that emanated from her core. 

He moved to the foot of the bed and lifted one foot, his hand going to the laces of her boot and working them loose so that he could slide it free. After the first one was finished, he started on the other, his slow, torturous movements driving them both wild with need. The second one soon dropped to the floor and his cool hands slid beneath her skirts to remove the stockings from both of her legs. The first touch of his hands upon Buffy’s skin and her eyes fell shut. Again he took his time, his fingers stopping often to knead the muscles, relaxing and stimulating at the same instance. 

Buffy bit her lip to keep from crying out, his pleasurable torment driving her near insane. Her need for him had grown to epic proportions, and she was ready for him to just rip his clothes off – hers too – and take her. Instead, he was slowly driving her out of her mind. She groaned when his hands fell away from her legs, distressed at being denied his touch. Her eyes opened, and she stared greedily as he moved to one of the chairs and began pulling off his eveningwear; his nude body was something she’d never tire of seeing. 

When he was wearing nothing but his breeches, he returned to her side, assisting her to her feet so he could work on the buttons of her dress. Buffy allowed herself to be turned around, his position at her back causing her to feel somewhat vulnerable. 

Spike started with her hair, hunting down each and every pin that held it secure atop her head. It was a wonder she didn’t have a headache from the sheer volume that made up her elaborate do. Finally, the last pin slipped from between his fingertips, and he watched entranced as her hair floated down her back and covered his hands. His head lowered, and he inhaled deeply, the shiny tresses giving off a fragrance he’d come to associate with the Slayer. 

It made him want to shove her face first into the bed and… 

He felt her stiffen in front of him as if poised for his assault, and he once more reined in his lust and concentrated on undoing the buttons of her gown. Sliding her hair over the front of her shoulder, he went to work on the tiny fastenings, silently grumbling about the size and quantity. It gave him thoughts about ripping the bloody thing off her and being done with it. And he would have, if he’d not wanted to see her in this particular gown again and again. When the last button came undone, Spike pushed his hands inside the seam and cupped her shoulders. Running them over her bare arms, he shoved the material down until it fell away from her body to pool at her feet. 

Clad now in just her undergarments, he could see the rise and fall of her chest, indicative of her increasing desire. His hand grasped hers briefly, just long enough to help her step over the pile of material, then let go. Crouching beside her, he quickly grabbed the discarded dress and threw it over the chair he’d tossed his own clothes upon. 

He turned back around, pleased to see that she hadn’t moved – her back still to him. His eyes skimmed the layers of material he’d yet to go through so that he could feel her bare skin against his, and knew that this round would go quicker – and most likely throw the Slayer off. As he reached her, he placed his hands beneath the corset and pulled. The garment, unused to the strength of a vampire, simply ripped down the middle, the sound mingling with her shocked gasp. Impatient now to see her, his claws tore away the remaining items covering her body, his haste causing him to nick her flesh – a slight hiss of pain escaping the Slayer’s mouth. 

Spike smelled the blood immediately and once again had to rein in his demon to keep from ravishing her. He had other plans. He wanted the Slayer’s total surrender, and while he knew he’d get it regardless of what method he employed, he was also conscious of their desire for a soft wooing. A tender assault. It was the reason he’d left his pants on. 

When the last scrap of cloth fell away, leaving her body completely exposed to his perusal, Spike made quick work of drawing back the covers before lifting the Slayer in his arms and depositing her on the cool sheets. He stepped out of his breeches then and joined her on the bed, lying on his side and propped on his elbow so that he could look at her. So close, his erection brushed against her hip, his hand in easy access to her pleasure centers. 

But he’d get to those later. For now, his hand cupped her jaw, turning her face towards him, and he lowered his head to claim her lips, his full mouth brushing back and forth across hers. Little nibbles that made her pant all the harder and open her mouth, as if begging for his invasion. 

“So beautiful,” he murmured against her lips. “All mine.” 

Spike could feel her shift beside him, desperate to increase the contact. 

“Shhhh… just feel…” 

His thumb brushed back and forth along her jaw as he continued to press light kisses to her lips. She mewled in protest and he gave her what she wanted, his tongue sliding into her mouth. Over and over it went, the slow in and out movement a precursor of what was to come once he finally sheathed himself within her body. For now, he made love to her mouth, as if he had no other care in the world except to kiss her. And kiss her, he did. Each soft brush of his tongue against hers had the Slayer pressing closer to him, her body all but lying on her side, his cock flush against her stomach. 

Just when she thought she could take it no more, he tore his mouth away, trailing his lips along her jaw. His target: her ear. 

“Mmmm… taste so good, pet.” 

“ _Spike_ ,” she hissed when his lips clamped down on her earlobe. He was slowly driving her insane. Her body ached with need. And he just seemed to be adding more fuel to the flames. 

He’d not even touched her with his hands yet. Not really. Not in the places she wanted to be touched. 

Her breasts and pussy were practically craving his sinful touch, but as yet, they were left wanting. Aching. She strained against him, desperate to feel him, and nearly wept with frustration when his hand left her neck and gripped her hip, stilling her movements. Her mouth turned downward at being denied, but then his thumb started moving. Lazy circles drawn upon her hip. Just enough stimulation to take her mind off the fact that he’d yet to venture further. 

Though the promise was there. 

Spike had every intention of bathing her other ear with the same attention as the first, but his head lowered and his gaze locked on a pert nipple. The pointed nub just begging for his lips, his tongue, or his hand. He slid down her body and captured it between his teeth, rolling his tongue over it to make it harder. As he sucked at her breast, he silently congratulated himself for lasting this long. 

“God, Spike… harder…” Her fingers sifted through the curls on his head, kneading his scalp even as she held him in place against her breast. 

Spike felt the restless movements of the Slayer and released the nipple he’d been suckling. Concentrating on the diamond-like bud, he blew cool air over the tip, smiling as she sucked in her breath. Then he lowered his mouth to the other rosy tip and began a repeat performance. 

Buffy was reduced to babbling at this point, begging and pleading for him to put her out of her misery. She wasn’t quite sure how much more she could take. Her blood was thrumming through her veins, her breathing erratic as his lips and tongue teased her flesh. 

Friction. She needed friction. 

Knowing he’d keep her from moving yet again, she lowered one hand to her pussy. So wet from his teasing, she didn’t have to bother with preparing herself, just shoved three fingers between her legs – her hips arched off the bed to increase the penetration. No thought was spared that she was pleasuring herself in front of him, her embarrassment long since passed. She needed release, even a small one at this point, and if it took her giving it to herself, so be it. 

Spike could feel her movements, and tore his mouth from his prize to see her fucking herself with her fingers. The sight was damn erotic, made more so by the look of rapture on her face. She was so into her own pleasure she wasn’t even aware that he’d stopped what he was doing. Was instead watching her, or more specifically, her fingers as they slipped in and out of her pussy. He zeroed in on the juices covering her slim digits, his tongue desperate to taste her. 

She was moaning now. Her body drawing tighter as the pressure between her legs built. Fingers increasing in speed as her pleasure mounted. 

“More, Spike… I need more…” 

Not wanting to take his eyes off her performance, he settled himself on his knees between her legs. His hand lowered to her clit, flicking his thumb back and forth across it a few times then stopping. 

“That what you need, love?” 

Her head thrashed back and forth upon the pillows as he worked the bundle of nerves, her keens of pleasure causing his dick to twitch. 

“No?” 

Spike grabbed her hips and lifted her onto his lap. His hand closed about her wrist, pulling her fingers from where they’d been frantically pumping at her core, lifting them to his lips so that his tongue could lick them clean. When he was done, he dropped her hand and positioned himself at her opening. 

“How ‘bout this?” he asked as he slid home. “This what you want, Slayer?” 

Buffy gasped in surprise, then sighed as her inner muscles easily gave way as his cock filled her. Her eyes opened, her face a mask of confusion when he just sat there, seemingly content to be just buried inside of her. 

“Your show, luv,” he answered her unasked question. 

A smile lit her face, and she raised her arms, indicating her desire to have him lift her – a request with which he happily complied. Putting his arms around her back and hauling her up off the bed until she sat in his lap. With her chest flush against his, Buffy wrapped her arms around his back and held herself in place – pleased with the control the new position afforded her. 

She experimented a bit, finding out what felt good for her – and him. What movements made him purr, and what drove him to grip her hips tight and groan. This power that she held over him – similar to wearing that dress – thrilled her. Proved she wasn’t the only one vulnerable to need. 

Buffy stilled on his lap causing a growl of protest from her lover. Revenge was sweet, and she was determined to exact upon him the same treatment he’d gifted her. 

Lacing her fingers in his hair, she pulled his head back and brushed light kisses across his lips. Spike had beautiful lips. Sensual lips. Full and soft, just begging to be kissed. Which she did. 

Although, he seemed wise to her game, keeping his lips locked tight. Her eyes narrowed, then a sudden thought struck her. 

“Fuck! Slayer!” he gasped. “Again… do it again.” 

She did, only because he asked so sweetly, his purr of pleasure as she tightened her inner walls around his cock, music to her ears. Buffy kept up the sweet torture while she kissed him, her tongue sliding inside his mouth, much the same way he’d done to her earlier. The rumbling in his chest caught her by surprise. Knew it meant he was close to losing control, and she was both thrilled and dismayed. Thrilled because she liked knowing she wasn’t the only one who got lost in the other’s touch. Dismayed because she liked being in the driver’s seat, setting the pace of their lovemaking. 

Well, if she was going to lose it, may as well go out with a bang. 

Her hips once more in motion, she rode his cock as she nibbled her way down his neck. Fascinated by the scars, the marks that made him what he was, her tongue flicking along their outline. She didn’t feel Spike’s face shift, her gentle teasing too much for his demon to take. 

_‘Bloody chit doesn’t know what she’s doing to me,’_ Spike thought, his grip on her hips tightening even more. His hands urging her to a faster pace while his body coiled tighter and tighter beneath hers. Since seeing her pleasuring herself, he wanted her to be the one that brought herself off. But if she kept up what she was doing, he wouldn’t be… 

He struck blindly. Instinctively. 

His fangs burying into his mark as her blunt teeth bit down on Drusilla’s. She climaxed immediately, releasing his neck and crying out his name as her inner walls contracted around his cock. Spike was in a haze of lust, so far gone, his partner’s orgasm hadn’t even registered. 

Lowing her onto her back, he lay on top of her and proceeded to fuck her senseless. His hips thrust into hers, driving her quickly to another orgasm. As the last shudder wracked her body, Spike released his fangs from her neck and slipped out of her. He flipped her to her stomach, lifting her ass in the air as he knelt behind her. One quick thrust and he was buried to the hilt once again. 

Beneath him, Buffy struggled to all fours, delighting in this new position. And his loss of control… 

Spike shoved her hair out of the way, exposing her sweat drenched back to his gaze. Her neck still bleeding from where he’d bitten her. His drew her up off the bed until her back was flush against his chest; his mouth latched onto the open wound on her neck and sucked at the blood smearing her skin. Her head fell back against his shoulder, giving him whatever access he might need. 

His hand found its way to the moist curls covering her sex to play with her clit, and Buffy could do nothing but whimper, caught between pleasure and pain as her over-sensitized nubbin was fondled yet again. She felt his movements increase at his impending release, and she concentrated on squeezing his cock as it thrust in and out of her pussy. 

“Yeah, love. Squeeze me good… feels so… damn, Slayer…” he snarled. “More… that’s it, baby… fuck.” 

One final squeeze and he was done for, spilling his seed as her muscles contracted, yet again, around his length. He rode out both of their orgasms, his hips in constant motion until the last tremor subsided. 

The Slayer collapsed back against him, too sated to move. His arms wrapped around her waist to hold her close while he nuzzled her neck. Sensing she was about to fall asleep right there against him, he lifted her off him and gently lowered her to the mattress. Reaching behind him, he grasped the covers and, after lying down and pulling the Slayer’s body snug against him, settled them around both of their bodies. 

Moments later, both were asleep.


	34. Chapter 34

When Buffy finally deemed to open her eyes, she knew she was alone in bed. She didn’t need to see that Spike was gone, the lack of a tingling sensation along the back of her neck indicated that he was nowhere nearby. She stretched – the kind that came from getting a full night’s rest – when it came to her. 

_Buffy, as usual, woke just as the sun made its presence known behind the window curtains, grumbling under her breath at her body’s desire to wake with the dawn. It wasn’t that the light filtering around the curtains caused the room to brighten in any way, just the opposite, in fact._

_She moved to get out of bed, as was her custom, but a cool hand snaked around her waist and pulled her back. Before she had a chance to even begin a half-hearted protest, she found herself draped in a vampire blanket – comforting, not smothering – his body erupting in vibrations as he wrapped himself around her; while soft, full lips nuzzled his mark. The gentle rumbling soothed her back to sleep, smile firmly in place when she burrowed under the covers closer to her husband._

She didn’t overanalyze Spike’s actions, uncaring why he’d made her stay with him. The memory was something out of a fairytale, and she’d prefer to keep the vampire’s softer moment to herself. Cherish it, rather than pick it apart and look for any hidden meaning. 

Clutching the sheets to her chest, she sat up. Her eyes scanned the empty room as she hunted for something to cover herself with, thus preserving her modesty as she slipped through the room’s connecting door into her own. Where, no doubt, her maid was waiting for her to appear. The only thing she encountered was her red dress lying across the chair where Spike had placed it last night, or earlier this morning, since it was well after midnight when they’d returned home. She thought to pull on her undergarments, but they were in a tattered heap upon the floor, the material not given the same courtesy as her dress. 

_‘Like undergarments weren’t just as hard to come by,’_ Buffy thought as she rolled her eyes. ‘If he keeps this up, I’ll have nothing to wear beneath my gowns.’ 

Signing in resignation, she crawled out of bed, pulling the sheet with her to wrap toga-style about her body to provide some hint of decency as she made her way back to her room. 

~*~*~*~*~

Her morning toiletries seen to, Buffy rushed from her room and down the stairs. Although she’d enjoyed the uninterrupted sleep and felt quite refreshed, her body made known its desire for sustenance. She just prayed that Cook wouldn’t mind altering her schedule slightly to feed her. Mrs. Wadsworth ruled her domain with a sharp hand and an even sharper rolling pin, and Buffy hated to disrupt the woman’s pattern by having her go out of her way to provide her with something to eat. Especially when it was due to her own tardiness, even if said tardiness was her husband’s fault. 

She needn’t have worried however, for as she neared the kitchens and stuck her head inside, the fragrant scent of herb-flavored stew bombarded her nostrils, and Buffy breathed deeply, eyes closing in anticipation of the forthcoming meal. Her stomach rumbled loudly, and Buffy blushed prettily as the cook noticed her presence. 

“Ahhh, I see yo’r up, just like the master said you’d be,” Mrs. Wadsworth announced by way of a greeting. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’d actually just come down to see if there’d been any leftovers from breakfast, seeing as I’d overslept.” 

The cook snorted. “As if I’d feed my mistress table scraps. The very idea. No… you’ll be getting a proper meal.” 

“Oh…I don’t want to put you to the trouble.” 

“Nonsense. Truth be told, we’re used to holding meals till round this time,” the cook confided. Seeing the understanding in the girl’s eyes, she nodded. “Had the staff in a dither, you did, rising with the dawn like you were,” she whispered conspiratorially. 

Buffy smiled back. 

“Now, run along and tell that husband of yours that dinner will be ready momentarily.” 

Buffy nodded and left the kitchen, her destination: Spike’s study – knowing that was where he was probably hidden away. Her assessment was correct, because as she neared, she could feel the pricklies start along the back of her neck. He wasn’t the only one inside, however, and she hesitated to interrupt him. 

Still, the cook _had_ charged her with announcing dinner. 

Although determined in her task, her knock was rather soft upon the door. She heard Spike’s terse, “Come in,” and eased the door open. 

Buffy walked to his side, greeting the two men – vampires – that were with her husband with a slight smile. They looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t quite place them. Before she could really think on it, Spike had her in his arms and was ravaging her lips. His kiss possessive and carnal, uncaring of the others in the room. She soon forgot them, as well, melting into his embrace as his tongue sought for and was granted access to her mouth. It was over before she knew it, and when she finally remembered where she was – and who else was in the room – her face flamed in embarrassment. 

From her position tucked along his side, Buffy turned her head to peek beneath her lowered lashes to look at the others. Neither seemed disgusted with her public show of affection for her husband; if anything, they both seemed amused at the master vampire’s possessiveness. 

“Something you needed, pet?” Spike asked, drawing her attention away from the others and back to him. 

“Huh? Oh, yes… Mrs. Wadsworth, the cook… she says dinner is almost ready.” Verbalizing said meal caused her stomach to rumble yet again. Damn, she was really hungry! 

Spike looked up at Clayton and Alric, shocked that he’d momentarily disregarded his guests while he ravished his wife. Unfortunately, as much as he didn’t want it to, she had that effect on him. Made him forget himself, and concentrate solely on her. 

“We’ll be along in a moment.” 

Buffy nodded and moved from his side, encountering the other two as she made to leave the room. It dawned on her then, where she’d seen them. They’d been the ones to save her, when she’d been too stunned, too weak and unprepared, to save herself. These demons had been her saviors, protecting her from the brutish human males that would have raped and possibly killed her. 

She stopped before the older of the two, the glasses he wore doing nothing to distract from his handsome good looks. While no Spike, the man could easily have any woman he wanted, if he so chose. Buffy took his hand, smiling to reassure the vampire, who had started to twitch under her direct stare. Behind his desk, her husband growled possessively, and she flung an eye roll over her shoulder before turning back to the others. 

“Thank you. Both of you,” she told them, her gaze shifting from one to the other. They looked at her questioningly, so Buffy clarified. “For the other night. For saving me from those… from those men.” 

“It was our honor to do so, m’lady,” Clayton replied, his expression gravely serious. 

Buffy nodded at them, then stepped away, her mind mulling what he hadn’t said as she made her way to the dining room. Strangely, she couldn’t find it in her to regret – or even care about – their deaths. Oh, she knew as surely as she lived and breathed that the men that had touched her were dead. Had probably been killed not long after she’d been led away and towards the Marchioness’ home. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Dinner was a quiet affair, and for the most part, Buffy let the conversation flow around her. As she ate her meal – which was delicious, the cook having outdone herself yet again – she silently contemplated asking Spike about spending her afternoons with Renee. And, in the time-honed tradition of children everywhere, she asked her husband while guests were present, so as to avert a scene. 

But Spike surprised her, so much so, that he teased her about his supposed overbearing nature in front of the others. His quick agreement to her request had floored her, even if she had been vague enough to prevent him from knowing the real reason for wanting to spend her afternoons with the Marchioness. 

It boiled down to pride. Hers. Here Spike was, settling into this role the Powers had appointed him, and he’d easily adapted to the situation. Playing the part of a titled gentleman as if he’d been born to it. True, she wasn’t sure about his past – maybe he had been nobility before he’d been turned. It was a topic that had never come up. 

Then, there was her. Just plain old Buffy. No special skills except killing demons with sass and flair, a ready quip before they expired into dust or goo. Now those skills were practically useless. Well, not so much useless, as not needed. The vampires here seemed to have a much better control over their demons. Buffy had yet to hear the first cry for help. Most seemingly content to drink their blood from the goblets before them. 

They also ate. Real food. And seemed to enjoy it too. 

It boggled the mind. 

So, here she was. A slayer, only not. Her only saving grace the fact that she was the first human they’d seen claimed by a vampire. It didn’t inspire much confidence. 

Besides, the lack of television almost begged for her to open up a book for entertainment. If she could broaden her skills, say learn a language or two – after all, Doyle had said twenty-five years give or take – all the better. She just didn’t want to be the dumb Slayer that relied on her friends and Spike to handle every aspect of researching their destiny. 

After dinner, Spike left her to her own devices, and Buffy used that time to jot down a quick note to the Marchioness letting her friend know that she’d gained her husband’s approval and inquiring as to when it would be convenient for her to begin her lessons. It took her a moment to figure out how to work the quill, several drafts lying crumpled on her desk as she tried to word the letter just so, while keeping in mind her penmanship. Another few were spent unraveling the mystery of the Arundel seal. When she was finished, she eyed the letter with satisfaction before leaving the room to place it by the front door for delivery. 

With nothing but time on her hands until they had to leave for her supper engagement later tonight, she decided to wander the grounds out back. She would have grabbed a book from Spike’s study, but was loathe to interrupt him while he was entertaining guests in his sanctuary – apparently discussing business with the other two vampires, and a third man – someone she’d yet to meet. 

The hours seemed to fly by as Buffy walked along the paths of the garden, stopping often to peer closely at a particular flower. The gardening staff was most helpful in naming the different blooms, warming to their topic at her obvious interest. She listened attentively, surprisingly interested in the different aspects of how they bred certain species. All part of her “bettering herself” mentality. 

After a thorough discussion and several pointed questions, she moved off, leaving the men to their work. The sun dipped behind the horizon and darkness fell. And still she meandered through the garden. It was peaceful. Quiet. The serenity of the gardens allowing her mind to wander, to think about all she’d like – no, needed – to do to prepare for whatever it was that was coming. 

At the edge of their property line, near the brick wall that enclosed their estate, she found some lawn furniture – table, chairs, a few chaise lounges. Stretching out on one of the lounges, she stared up at the sky towards the stars that seemed to shine much brighter than in Sunnydale. The lack of electricity not causing that glow that seemed to settle over her hometown city and casting a pall upon the sky. 

She felt him before she saw him, her eyes not as adept with night vision as his were. Times like this, it was her Slayer sense that she relied on to tell her when a baddie neared. Buffy turned her head towards the path she’d wandered down, knowing that it was there that he’d be coming from. 

Sure enough, moments later, he came into focus. 

She eyed him from head to toe, taking in the disheveled look he pulled off with such aplomb. Walking sex was what he was. His movements, his attitude, that sexy smirk and, oh man, that tilt thing he did with his head as he appeared to guess what was on your mind. 

God forbid if he could read hers right now, for she’d be blushing to the roots of her hair. 

She watched his grin widened, and Buffy nearly groaned aloud as she remembered what her chaperone had once said. 

_“Vampires…they have an excellent sense of smell.”_

“What’r you doin’, pet?” 

“Nothing really. Just looking at the stars. Funny how the lack of electricity seems to make them brighter, ya know?” 

“Been out here an awful long time just to look at the stars…” 

“Well, I did walk among the gardens first. I didn’t realize you employed so many people just to make everything out here look so pretty. A couple of them told me how they breed some of the flowers to create new colors and such. Never knew you could breed flowers, thought that was strictly for…” Her voice trailed off and her face flamed. God, did _everything_ lead back to sex with her? Buffy was just glad it was dark outside. 

Spike coughed around the Slayer’s embarrassment. Thoughts like that would have him late for dinner with his father.

“Come on, love,” he coaxed, reaching down to help her from the lounge. “Time to get ready for supper. Don’t want to be late.” 

“What time it is?” 

“Going on eight o’clock.” 

“ _Already_? I’ve been out here that long?” she wailed as she rushed to her feet. “I’m never going to be ready in time.” 

Buffy moved to pass him and rush back into the house, but a firm grip about her waist held her back. 

“Spike…” she whined. “I don’t want to be late.” 

Spike loved to see the Slayer flustered like this. Reminded him of the time he’d told her about her chaperone… 

He placed a chaste kiss upon her lips and told her, “Bath should be ready about the time you make it upstairs. Wear the dress your maid has laid out.” Turning her around, he swatted her behind to get her moving. 

Her glare promised retribution before she harried off. Something Spike looked forward to with much anticipation.


	35. Chapter 35

Buffy was excited, yet nervous, as the carriage ambled along the path on the way to the Marquess’ home. As with Spike, she’d retained all the memories she and the older man had spent together, his kindly manner while she’d scrambled to prepare for her elaborate wedding to his son. Remembered his hope that he’d live to see her give birth to the next Chadsworth heir – knowing now that his wish would never become reality. The conversations mocked her naiveté at the time, thinking that such an event might occur, how she’d blushingly told Spike’s “father” that she wanted a whole passel of children. 

In the month preceding her marriage, he’d become her surrogate father, learning shortly after his son’s proposal of her own “parents’” passing. He’d kept the secret so as not to prevent the marriage, pleased with his son’s choice in a wife. Only their relationship had been much different than what she’d apparently shared with her own parents of this time – the fictitious characters created by the false memories of the spell and elaborated upon by the Powers. The Marquess had actually talked with her; his stiff, reserved nature relaxing in her presence, his outward affection trying to make up for what he’d lacked in giving to his son prior to their rift. 

Recalling her own relationship with her real father, the one that had left her and her mom – thus precipitating their move to Sunnydale – Buffy found herself being selfish. So what if he wasn’t really her father-in-law? He didn’t know that. She wanted to hold tight some sliver of fatherly affection. Something that had been denied her so long she wasn’t aware that she missed it. Craved it. 

She’d take it, thank you very much. 

She knew that she was going to feel bad for misleading him, for getting his hopes up. And that was something she didn’t want to do. 

“What’s wrong?” Spike had watched the Slayer fidget in her seat for the last ten minutes, a frown marring her features while she seemed to carry on an internal debate with herself. 

“Nothing.” 

“Right… You’ve just been sittin’ there wringing your hands for no apparent reason then, yeah?” 

Buffy glanced down at said hands before lifting her head to look at him. His expression seemed open – as if he were genuinely interested in whatever it was that was causing her distress. It confused her, unnerved her. Made her just open her mouth and blurt out an explanation. About how she didn’t quite know what to say around the Marquess. How she didn’t want to inadvertently say the wrong thing or lead him on. 

Spike, in a move completely out of character, actually listened to the Slayer voice her concern. Pulled her onto his lap to hold her while she spoke. His eyes were drawn to the necklace resting about her throat, her fingers idly caressing the large pendent nestled between her breasts. It had been an impulsive purchase of his. The jade necklace brought out the green in her eyes, just as the gown she wore had. He liked seeing her wearing things he’d bought – even if he had to rationalize in his mind by saying that as the Marquess of Chadsworth’s heir, it was expected that his wife would constantly be draped in costly jewels. 

Still… 

Her reaction had pleased him. The promise of how she’d shown her gratitude later placating his demon for the time being. She’d fingered the bauble in awe as he’d draped it around her neck when she’d been dressed. 

“It’s beautiful, William. Thank you.” 

She’d called him William, not Spike. Although she’d been looking right at him as she’d said it. Her pleasure had become his…his inner poet thrilling at the Slayer’s obvious enjoyment of her gift. 

“Spike?” 

Spike shook his head, returning to the present. 

“Sorry, luv. Don’t rightly know what to tell ya. Yeah, you’re gonna have to lie to him. Prolly to all of them. Hadn’t thought that far ahead myself, actually. Doyle didn’t exactly give me a play-by-play manual when we arrived.” 

Buffy frowned, unsure how to proceed. She was just about to open her mouth again and speak when Spike cut her off. 

“I do know you’ve got a good heart. You’ll not hurt the man. Just do what comes naturally and everything will fall into place.” 

“I…” He’d shocked her. Honest and truly shocked her. Oh, she knew that Spike was different, but had never witnessed firsthand his seeming humanity. That he could understand her feelings and almost sympathize, offer suggestions? 

It triggered a whole new awareness within her. Skewed her outlook on demons – vampires – as a whole. 

“Thanks.” 

Spike didn’t respond to her whispered gratitude, appalled himself at the words he’d shared. What the _hell_ had made him say that out loud? Let alone be thinking it in the first place. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Dinner with the Marquess was a wonderful affair. He spent the majority of the time regaling them with tales of William in his youth, and Buffy was constantly covering her mouth with her hand to hide the smile that seemed a permanent fixture upon her face. During particularly enlightening tales, she would hazard a glance at Spike seated across from her to see his disgruntled expression – and if vampires could blush, she was sure that his face would be flaming at some of the comments from the elder man. 

In all, it was a peaceful interlude in the usually fast-paced world of the ton. With just the three present, they didn’t stand upon ceremony. Instead, clustering to one side of the dining table so as not to shout at one another. They were allowed to be themselves, well, as much as she and Spike were able. 

When talk inevitably turned towards begetting the next heir, Spike surprised her by assuring the Marquess that the matter “was being seen to” – which had Buffy blushing profusely, and Spike leering suggestively – the heated look performed while his father had his eyes on her, of course. It made her blush all the more, causing her to duck her head to hide her reaction to him. Evil vampire! 

Unfortunately, Spike wasn’t as stealthy as he liked to think. 

The shout of laughter caught them both by surprise and they turned towards the elderly man laughing uproariously in his seat. Buffy grinned, pleased to see him happy – even if she didn’t know what it was that had caused the man’s merriment. Her delight soon turned to concern as the Marquess’ mirth turned into a coughing fit that left him gasping for breath and Spike calling out for assistance. 

The servant standing by the door soon returned with the butler. As the senior servant knelt by the Marquess’ chair, Spike barked out, “What’s wrong with him?” He’d smelled the blood the elder man had eventually coughed up, even though the butler had tried to hide the evidence of his master’s sickness. 

“It’s influenza, m’lord. I’ve sent round for the doctor, but it’s best we get him to bed.” The butler moved to help the Marquess stand, but Spike shoved the man out of the way, easily lifting his father in his arms and striding purposefully from the room.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy wasn’t quite sure what to do. She wanted so much to follow Spike up the stairs, but refrained, instinctively knowing that it would be unseemly for her to be inside the elder man’s bedroom. Instead, she paced the length of the dining room, waiting for word. For Spike to reappear and tell her that the Marquess was going to be just fine. 

About an hour later, time she’d spent imagining the worst, Buffy was startled by the reemergence of the butler. 

“Lady Arundel?” 

Since Buffy had been waiting for the prickling along her neck indicating Spike’s return, she’d tuned everything else out. So much so, that her name was called three times before she was aware of the servant’s presence. 

“M’lady? The doctor is with his lordship right now. It…it may be some time yet. Would you like me to move you somewhere more comfortable? Say, the drawing room?” 

Buffy shook her head. “The study… I’ll wait in the study.” 

“As you wish. If you would follow me please?” 

She nodded and walked behind the servant out of the room. 

Once in her father-in-law’s sanctuary, she moved towards one of the oversized chairs situated in front of the fireplace. Oblivious to the butler, she curled up on the seat and prepared to wait for news of the Marquess’ health. 

The butler, upon seeing the girl’s lost look, had a fire started, along with a tray of tea brought in. Buffy smiled her thanks at the man as the service was set beside her chair before staring into the flames. 

And she waited… 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike stuck to the shadows as the Marquess’ valet set about preparing his master for bed. Death seemed to cling to the old man, as if it knew it was just a matter of time before he’d be meeting his maker. 

He didn’t like being there, yet knew it was expected of him. The parallel between this man and his mother’s situation had not gone unnoticed. Why he even cared about the man’s fate was a mystery to him – Spike barely even knew him. Even if he had enjoyed the other’s company upon occasion. 

It was as if the time spent here in the past was starting to rub off on him. Tame him, to a point. 

The doctor, when he arrived, just confirmed Spike’s suspicions that the Marquess would probably not live through the night. The advanced stage of his sickness all but signifying the man’s imminent death. He knew the Slayer wasn’t going to take the news well. Would, in fact, rage against the so-called Powers that had seen fit to keep her here in the first place. But, it was probably better this way. 

Better for the old man to go before she’d become too attached to him. Too embroiled in the lies she’d have to tell. 

~*~*~*~*~

_A year later…_

Spike looked up from the latest correspondence on his desk. He needed a break. After becoming the next Marquess of Chadsworth after the death of his father, the Slayer and he had left London and the whirlwind season behind, retreating to Chadsworth Estates to observe the traditional mourning period. In the weeks following, the Slayer had been inconsolable. A time the vampire would cheerfully love to never have repeated again. 

She’d played the grieved daughter-in-law, garbing herself in the oppressive black gowns, as was custom – so much so, that Spike began to despise the color. He’d hated to see her so morose, so despondent at the man’s death. Doing nothing but staring out into the gardens of their new home. Her passion snuffed so that she barely responded to his touch – which had really sent his demon into a fit. 

At the beginning of the third week, he’d snapped, drafting a note to Renee and telling her to present herself at his doorstep with all possible haste. Two days later, she’d arrived and been led immediately to her grieving friend. Her presence seemed to be working, because a few days later the Slayer had sought him out in his study. 

Their joining had been wild… and bloody. The violence of that act could still make him hard just thinking about it. She’d cried throughout, but he knew that it wasn’t from his actions. If anything, she’d spurred him to mark her… and he had. Her body had looked like a bloody pincushion by the end of the day, but she’d not seemed to mind. Had in fact curled up trustingly next to him on the floor and finally slept. 

Later, he’d carried her back to bed.

They’d never talked about that day, but he knew that she thought about it. He would catch her watching him at inopportune times, as if remembering what it had been like. How it could be between them again. 

So, he’d waited. And while their nighttime activities had returned with a vengeance, they’d never been quite as violent as that time. Nowhere near, in fact. Yet, the promise was there. 

Shaking his thoughts from that day, his mind turned towards the Slayer. His wife. Somewhere in the huge monstrosity passing itself off as a house, she and the Marchioness of Haversham were no doubt engrossed in the Slayer’s studies. Something his wife had taken to with a vengeance after that night. Like it gave her some sense of purpose. The single-mindedness of her actions annoyed him at times. Oh, he knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn’t care. He wanted her to think of him with that same fiery passion, like he was thinking of her. 

Groaning at the erection straining against his trouser, Spike decided to seek out his wife, see what she was up to. Maybe the sight of her surrounded by dusty volumes of mindless dribble would soften him up a bit. He shuddered at the thought, his mind reverting to his human days spent in the company of his stodgy tutor. 

_‘Oh yeah, hard-on effectively killed.’_

Still, anything had to be better than going over mindless legalese on the condition of his expanded estate. 

Pushing away from his desk, now that his decision had been made, Spike left his study behind and began his search of the mansion for a hint of his wife. After walking around for a good twenty minutes without any sign of either female, he was just about to make his presence felt when he scented her blood on the air. Panicked, he took off running, bursting into the room he knew her to be within. 

Only to skid to a halt as he caught sight of the female combatants. 

Garbed in the attire of traditional fencers, their slight frames were accented by the cut of the cloth. He leaned against the wall and watched the match unfold, sensing instinctively Renee’s skill. Even outmatched as she was, his Slayer was a sight to behold, and his eyes gleamed as his lust returned with a vengeance. 

Spike knew that she was aware of his presence. That both of them were aware. Yet neither looked over to him. Instead, their eyes remained locked on the other, the steel-on-steel clash of the rapiers ringing throughout the room. In a sudden burst of speed and power, Renee had the Slayer flat on her back, the tip of her blade at the girl’s throat. 

He reacted without thinking, flying across the room, a warning growl sounding in his throat. Spike had the Marchioness pinned against the wall ready to tear her head off when he felt the Slayer’s hand upon his arm. 

“Spike?” 

His amber gaze spun towards her, searching her face for any signs of distress. Other than the confusion she exhibited, he could see no other indication of upset. In fact, her face seemed to shine with vitality. 

“How long?” he ground out. 

Buffy didn’t even think about lying. 

“About two months.” She could see the question on his face and rushed on before he could ask. “I was bored. I’m the Slayer, Spike. I’m used to fighting. Besides, I need to keep my skills sharp, and while reading and learning is helping me in other areas, I need this too.” 

He cocked his head to the side, regarding what she’d said. Something was nagging at him. Letting Renee go, he turned towards her, trying to place whatever it was that she had told him. 

Buffy smiled… waiting.

It was a secret she’d been keeping from him, having always downplayed her learning whenever he deigned to show himself during her studies. But, right now, she was like a child, bursting to impart her new skill. 

“Vous avez parlé le français!” (You spoke French!) 

“Yes,” she replied, beaming. “Je suis venu très loin puisque fait les études au Bronze. (I’ve come a long way since my studies at the Bronze.) Never mind… but, about this… you’re ok with it?” 

“Seulement si j’obtiens pour jouer aussi, l’amour.” (Only if I get to play, too, love.) 

Who knew that Spike speaking French would make her knees go weak? She swallowed hard, giving up on even trying to hide her arousal. The flaring of his nostrils proved to her that it had not gone unnoticed, and Buffy licked her lips in anticipation of him pouncing. Her jaw dropped when he sauntered out of the room, calling over his shoulder, “Vous tombez votre épaule, mon cheri.” (You’re dropping your shoulder, my dear.) 

Buffy stomped her foot in exasperation. One, because she knew he was right, and two, because he’d just walked away, leaving her horny as hell.

Renee, witness to their exchange, laughed delightedly after William departed. Her friend had come a long way this past year. After the death of the Marquess, Lord and Lady Arundel, now Lord and Lady Chadsworth, had escaped the limelight and retreated to the Chadsworth seat. She had every intention of giving her friend the prerequisite time of mourning – her being human and all – but a letter she’d received not long after their departure urged, well, more like demanded, her to join the couple in the countryside. She’d packed a bag, intent on spending a fortnight with Buffy and Spike, and had ended up staying a month before she’d been forced to return to London to see to her own affairs. 

For the next year, she’d been a constant companion to Buffy, leaving her side for only brief periods of time. Several others of the Aurelian clan had also visited, the vampires not caring about the enforced mourning period of the master vampire. 

It was during these times that the Slayer got a better insight into how vampires interacted. Yes, there were instances when something was done that had Buffy blinking in wide-eyed astonishment – sex, and their lack of inhibitions during the activity, being the key factor. But as a whole, their sense of family, honor, and loyalty was astounding. There was nothing that any of the frequent visitors wouldn’t do for Spike… or her. 

Looking at her life now, having spent a year primarily among vampires, she wasn’t surprised at her changed outlook. Had the Powers suspected? Was it what they’d wanted? If it wasn’t, it was their own damn fault. What could they have expected, pulling her away from whatever might influence her to behave differently, thrusting her into a world where she was claimed by a vampire, constantly surrounded by them, one even her best friend. 

Buffy glanced to where Renee stood laughing at her, frowning as her friend sensed her predicament but offered no sympathy. 

“Well… you’re the one that let him walk away. If it were me…” Renee responded to the Slayer’s look. 

A determined glint came into Buffy’s eyes and she shot out of the room, hot on her husband’s trail.


	36. Chapter 36

The mannish fit of the fencing outfit made it very easy for Buffy to race after Spike; no cumbersome skirts slowed her down. Even so, he’d still managed to put some distance between them. Almost as if he knew she’d be coming after him. 

The sneaky vamp! 

She tore around the corner and saw him swaggering down the hallway on his way towards the staircase. Seeing red, Buffy launched herself at him, determined to take him down and make him pay for teasing her. 

Her battle cry resounded in the deserted wing as she flew through the air, although, it probably hadn’t been the noise that had alerted the vampire to her presence. Over the past several months he just seemed to know when she approached, eerily so. When her body slammed into his, he was facing her. Then he maneuvered himself in such a way as to take the brunt of the impact when they collided with the carpeted floor. 

Buffy was on him in a flash, her fingers tearing at the fastenings of his white silk shirt – eager to feel the sculpted muscles of his abs. Her lips and tongue kissed and nipped at his flesh as each little bit was exposed to her, the direction of her mouth taking her closer to the bulge straining against his breeches. 

His groans and growls struck a chord with her, and she managed to rein in her lust, a gleam coming into her eye. 

_‘Tease me, will he?’_

Her fingers worked over the stays of his trousers allowing his cock to jut free from its confinement. She gripped him hard, knowing how much he delighted in her rough treatment. He cursed her, his rough, “Fuck, Slayer,” an endearment she’d long since grown used to. After a nice hard squeeze, she pumped her fist up and down along his shaft, a secret smile curving her lips when he swelled even more in her hand and a few pearly drops appeared at the slit. 

Buffy lowered her head, eager to claim the small prize, proof of his need for her. She licked the creamy fluid off the head of his cock, swirled it in her mouth, savoring the taste. Smiled knowingly when his hips bucked as he tried to get her to swallow him whole. 

Not that she would mind, not in the least, but paybacks were a bitch and she was just the one to do it. But not a complete one, as she allowed her lips to part and give him one long suck, even swallowing while she had him deep in her throat – knowing what it did to him. 

Then she was off. Jumping up from his body and racing back the way she’d come. Knowing she’d probably pay for what she’d done.

~*~*~*~*~

So caught up in the sensation of her mouth on his dick, it took Spike a minute to realize the Slayer had left him. When he did – heard her devious laughter as she disappeared back around the bend – he jumped to his feet. Pausing only long enough to secure his pants around his hips, Spike ran after her. Thrilling to the hunt. 

As his demon features graced his face, he breathed deeply, her arousal like a beacon drawing him toward her. With the size of his ancestral home, and his unfamiliarity with this unused wing, it took him a while to catch up with the Slayer. Her use of the various hidden passages – of which she seemed to have extensive knowledge – had him backtracking quite often. Just when he thought he had her cornered, that he’d finally get a chance to finish what she’d started, she seemed to up and disappear. 

He could have called to her through the claim, but a sense of fair play kept him from employing that tactic. The Slayer wanted to play, and honestly, Spike was rather enjoying the chase. It appealed to his demon. A bit of foreplay before the main event. 

The longer he stalked her, the stronger her scent became. Until he could practically hear her taunts, berating his hunting skills. He learned why when he rounded a corner and glanced down to see the fencing uniform in a balled heap upon the floor. Images of what she might have been wearing – or not wearing – beneath the costume had his nostrils flaring and a wave of lust slammed through his body. His dick made its presence felt, telling him to hurry up and end the game – that it was tired of playing already. 

For once, his two heads were in full accord. 

It was time to end this farce and claim his prize.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy was tired of running. It was just like the stubborn vamp to draw out her fun until she’d been nearly panting with need. Removing her dueling attire had been a last ditch effort for him to end the chase and catch her. Knew it was probably driving him crazy wondering what she might or might not be wearing. If it wasn’t for the fact that she knew with certainty that this wing was deserted, she would never have been caught running stark naked down the hallway. 

As it came to an end, she let herself into the bedroom, figuring she’d make her last stand within. She shut the door, then slid the bolt home – just so he wouldn’t get any ideas that she was giving in _too_ easily. She was, but _he_ didn’t need to know that. 

Her gaze darted about the room, looking for a place to hide. Completely pointless, true, but still. Appearances had to be maintained. Eyeing the chifforobe, Buffy figured that was as good a place as any. She opened the long door and climbed inside, crouching so that she could spring out when he finally revealed her hiding place.

Then she settled in to wait.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike paused before the room at the end of the hall and listened. He knew she was inside. The telltale signs of her arousal, as well as her increased heart rate, easily giving her away. An unfair advantage, to be sure, but he didn’t care. 

His hand closed around the knob and turned, eliciting a frown when it didn’t readily open. 

_‘Bloody chit locked the door.’_

He would have laughed outright at her last, defiant act, but didn’t want to alert the Slayer to his presence outside. He needed to figure out a way to get inside without breaking the bloody thing down. 

The answer came to him a moment later, and he backtracked to the preceding room. With as many secret passageways as he’d been through in the last hour or so, he figured one more wouldn’t be out of the question. It was just a matter of finding it.

Using every enhanced sense given him, he went over the connecting wall with a fine-tooth comb until he found the catch that released the shelf unit, which opened to reveal a narrow corridor between the two rooms. Spike left the trap door open, allowing a small shaft of light inside the secret passageway to aid his preternatural sight in finding the lever that would allow him entrance to the other bedroom. If he wasn’t so intent upon his task, he would have laughed at the man that had had the mansion designed. Randy ole goat to be sure! Devious too. 

Moments later, the second door fell open and Spike stepped inside and scanned the seemingly vacant room. He cocked his head, his eyes zeroing in on the clothes cabinet on the wall to his left. 

Spike swaggered toward the huge piece of furniture, ready to claim the spoils as victor of the hunt. His hand reached out, ready to close around the knob and open it, when it suddenly burst open and he staggered under the weight of the naked Slayer as she launched herself at him. Naked. Her bare limbs clinging to his waist and neck. 

He fell back a few steps before righting himself, then turned swiftly towards the bed.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy’s fingers went to work on Spike’s pants, ending up tearing them in her haste to free his erection. If he wasn’t buried inside her in the next few seconds, she was going to go crazy. The loose cloth slipped easily from his hips to pool around his ankles, nearly sending them both to the ground when Spike took his next step, his stride now hampered by the chain-like bindings of the bunched material. 

She didn’t care, she was going to be flat on her back soon enough. Ground, bed… they were one and the same. As Spike was forced to shorten the length of his stride, Buffy took matters in her own hands. She reached between their bodies while he tried to walk, grabbing his cock and guiding it to her pussy. 

Their dual moans of satisfaction resounded in the room as she lowered herself onto him, her inner walls stretching easily to accommodate his girth. 

With him seated deep within her, Buffy was now content to wait until he’d made it to the bed. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t get him to hurry it along with a nibble on his neck, his ear, his full, bottom lip. She’d just closed her lips around it, sucking it into her mouth, when she felt herself being lowered onto the mattress still covered by the bedspread. 

The four-poster bed provided just the right height. Allowed him to stand against the side as she laid there, their bodies still intimately joined. She squirmed, eager to have him move now. When she would have sat up, a cool hand forced her to lie still. To wait for whatever was going to come next. 

She frowned at his high-handedness, but did as he silently commanded. And was rewarded by a slow, deep thrust.

Buffy bit her lip as she felt him deep within her core, just barely grazing her sweet spot. Just enough to feel his presence. 

“Like that, pet?” Spike whispered huskily, trying to control his own lust. Seeing her laid out so invitingly, her eyes practically begging him to fuck her – and fuck her good – nearly made him forget his resolve to torture her a bit for her earlier stunt. His blue eyes raked over her features as she nodded frantically, noting her flushed face and how she submitted to his dominance – her actions controlled by nothing more than the feather-soft touch of his fingers on her stomach. 

“Tell me you like it.” He pulled all the way out, stifling his own groan at leaving the moist heat of her tight quim. He hovered at her entrance for a moment before he flexed his hips, allowing just the head to slide inside her again. 

“I like it,” she gasped out. Her ankles tightened about his waist, and she tried to draw him back inside. He resisted her attempts, smirking down at her. Watching how her body seemed to vibrate with tension. Waiting. 

Deciding he’d held back long enough, Spike gripped her hips and surged back into her, relishing the tiny gasp she made. Her fingers fisted in the coverlet as his cock slid in and out of her, the slow, steady rhythm driving her higher and higher. 

Buffy wanted to touch him. To feel his body pressed against hers, his cool flesh tempering the heat radiating from her body. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and convince herself that this was real. That each time they came together, this would be the time that she’d finally be able to slip past the barriers the vampire kept firmly in place and prevented him from voicing his feelings. 

She knew Spike cared about her. His actions this past year had proven as much. 

She just wished he’d _say_ something… 

Buffy found herself lifted suddenly, her hands automatically going around Spike’s neck as he turned and sat on the bed. She took advantage of the new position, increasing her pace as she rode him. His grip about her hips steadying her, even while they pushed her for more. 

Harder. 

Faster. 

Always more. 

His face was a mask of tormented pleasure – eyes closed, jaw clenched… the sexy snarl he did when she thrust her hips a certain way – and if she hadn’t had her face buried in his neck, she might have seen it. But she was too set in her task, desperate for the release that didn’t appear to be happening anytime soon. 

It was like her body was over-sensitized. And she nearly wailed at the thought of not being able to come. 

Buffy rode him harder and faster, a fine sheen of sweat soon coating her skin. 

Spike was ready to spill himself inside the Slayer. The little act she’d pulled in the hallway, followed by their subsequent “hide and seek” had ensured that this first time would be over with rather quickly. Unfortunately, the Slayer wasn’t quite with him. And, he was _determined_ to have her with him. 

Opening his eyes and willing himself not to come, he slipped one hand from her hip to her clitoris, hoping the added stimulation would send her over the edge. He watched as she arched away from his body, sobbing at this new assault on her tender flesh. 

Buffy stilled atop him, helpless in her reaction as his fingers worked her sensitive nubbin. Her body grew taut while he played with her clit, lazy circles that did more to incite her, rather than giving her the release she craved. 

She sobbed his name, begging him end her torment. 

In answer, Spike leaned back so that his back rested against the mattress, bringing the Slayer with him as he went. He rolled them – their bodies still intimately joined – so that she was beneath him. Lowering his head, his lips claimed hers in a kiss. Soft, gentle nips at first until her lips parted as she sought to increase the intimacy. 

If someone had dared ask him where the gentleness had suddenly come from, he couldn’t have said. All he knew was, right now, at this moment, he was savoring his Slayer’s growing responses to his tender, almost loving, touch. 

And she didn’t disappoint. Clinging to him as if she’d never let him go. Her fingers digging into his back as she held him close, trying to pull him even closer – almost as if they could actually merge and become one. 

He didn’t question it. Just fed off her seeming desperation. 

When she twitched beneath him, signaling her desire for him to move, he complied. His lips left her mouth to nuzzle his mark and he began a rhythmic thrusting in and out of her body. She felt so good, so hot, and he strained to bury himself deeper. He could hear her blood calling to him, the bounding cadence echoing in his ears. Spike licked his lips in anticipation, not surprised when his tongue grazed fangs instead of blunt teeth. 

There didn’t seem to be a day that went by where he didn’t taste her. As much as he hated it, she was in his blood now. 

The bed began creaking under the force of their movements. Their softly spoken words of encouragement whispered between them as their bodies strained towards release. 

Spike’s movements were erratic, his hips pistoning back and forth, faster and faster until he felt the Slayer begin to convulse beneath him as her orgasm hit. His fangs struck their mark and she cried out. 

He froze, tearing his mouth from her neck to stare down at her in shock, the words tumbling from her lips completely eclipsing what her inner walls were doing to his cock. But soon his body’s demands exerted their will and he reclaimed her neck and pounded into her pussy, trying to drive what she’d said from his mind. He climaxed almost immediately, the litany of her words ringing in his ear. 

No sooner had he spent himself than he was up and off her, yanking on his pants and tearing from the room as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. He paid no thought to her stricken features, how he’d just left her without so much as a by your leave. His only thought was to get away. 

And think. 

Buffy looked at Spike’s – her husband’s – retreating back, her face a mask of pain and anguish. When he slammed out of the room, unmindful of the door, she rolled onto her side, hugging the pillow beside her as her shock gave way to tears. Then outright sobs. Her slight frame shaking uncontrollably in her grief. 

She’d driven him away. 

Her words had driven him away. 

_I love you._


	37. Chapter 37

The servants took one look at their lord’s face and scattered out of his path. Something had upset him, and only a foolish person would remain in his presence and incur his wrath. 

In the privacy of his study, Spike gave vent to the rage coursing through his system. The Slayer’s repeated, “I love you,” were like drums in his head, beating louder and louder, driving out all other thoughts. Those objects that found themselves in his way as he prowled around the room were soon thrust from his path to crumble into pieces upon the floor. 

Eventually he wound down – although his thoughts were no less troubled – and he made his way towards the bar and the plethora of spirits just waiting to be had. The first glass was consumed in a matter of seconds; the second even faster. But he knew before he’d even taken his first sip, that it wouldn’t silence her crying. Or the fervent declaration given in the heat of the moment. 

His empty glass seemed to mock him, and disgusted with himself, with her, with fate in general, he threw it away and stalked to his chair behind the desk. He knew not how long he sat there in silence, mulling over what his life had become, but was aware the instant he was no longer alone. 

“I outta kill you, y’know,” Spike spoke without preamble, instinctively sensing the half-breed’s presence without actually having seen him. 

“We’ve had this conversation before. ‘m just the messenger, mate,” Doyle replied. He moved to the bar, all the while feeling the gaze of the master vampire upon his back. Snagging two tumblers and the jar, he walked over to the desk and plopped into one of the chairs set before it. 

Neither said a word while Doyle filled the two glasses to near overflowing, placing one within easy reach of Spike and downing the second in two long swallows. He watched as the vampire mimicked his actions and held out the empty glass for a refill. He complied, doing the same to his own, then leaned back in his seat. 

“What are you doing here?” Spike asked wearily. He was in no mood to deal with the Irishman right now. 

“Well, you’ve got everyone in a tither. Thought there was going to be a bit of high-five-ing going around when the Slayer finally confessed. Then you had to ruin what could have been a rather nice moment by rushing off.” 

“Sod off.” 

“Yeah… told ‘em you’d say something along those lines, only I was a bit more descriptive.” The two shared a brief look, equal smirks donning their faces. Doyle may be fighting for the side of good, but there was a bit of rebel in him still. “But seriously. This denying what you feel is only making it harder on yourself, and her.” 

Spike surged to his feet, knocking over his chair at the sudden burst of rage. 

“Look… I did what you bloody well asked, though it stuck in my craw t’do it! Even married the girl!” he roared. “Nowhere did I sign on to love the bloody bint.” 

Doyle just watched him, unimpressed. 

“Just a means to an ends to get back t’ Dru. A vampire and a Slayer… together?? It’s not natural,” he argued. He paced back and forth behind his desk, his pent up energy forcing him to movement. Now that he had someone to listen, he spouted off his laundry list of grievances, not the least of which was that he was evil, and had the Powers failed to realize that? When Spike finally wound down and leaned heavily against the wall behind him, Doyle gave a flick of his wrist. 

Like that first time when he’d had to convince Spike to claim the Slayer, a slight mist appeared along with several images. 

_The Slayer and him battling side-by-side to stop Angelus from awakening Acathla._

_Dru ranting about him being “covered” in the Slayer._

_His neutering at the hands of the Initiative._

_Falling in love with her._

_Him helping her battle a hellgod. Being unable to save her. Crying over her broken body._

_Her death and subsequent rebirth at the hands of her friends._

_Their fighting and shagging… his inevitable hurt._

_Getting a soul._

That last image shook him and he righted his chair and sat down. 

“I get a soul for her?” he whispered aghast. 

“I’m cheating a bit by showing you all this. But, essentially… yes. You fall in love with her and eventually hurt her, then go off and get your soul. That’s not the point, though.” 

“What is the bloody point?” 

“Things were never supposed to happen that way. Angelus was never supposed to be released. Never before had a Slayer seen vampires as anything other than monsters. For Buffy to do so, well, talk about your proverbial monkey wrench.” 

Spike just snorted. 

“So, when Ethan caused this little time travel spell, the Powers thought to take advantage of the Slayer’s makeup.” 

“And made her fall in love with me.” God, even here, he had nothing of his own. 

“No, we did nothing of the sort. Rest assured, she loves you. All we did was provide the setting. The reason I’m here is because you’re being so damn stubborn.” 

“Well, pardon me for not doin’ what’s expected of me,” he snarked. “I _have_ mentioned the evil part, right?” 

“William, you’re no more evil than I am… much as you like to fool yourself into thinking you’re the ‘Big Bad’. You’ve got too much of the poetic nature inside you to ever be fully evil, even without a soul. Look around you. This is what you were made for. This wonderful shade of gray. Where humans and vampires coexisted peacefully… well, mostly anyway.” 

“You’re wrong. I was made for Dru. She’s the reason I am.” 

“She made you, true. But, she’s not your destiny,” Doyle argued. “She was just the stepping stone to guide you on your way.” 

“No! Not Dru. We’re forever, Drusilla and me,” Spike railed. He dismissed the memory from his mind that negated those words, his eyes pinning the half-breed in place. But, Doyle knew. Somehow, Doyle knew about that time with Angelus. 

The fact that Drusilla had never let him claim her slammed into his gut with all the force of a freight train. How she’d never said she loved him. Even after her “daddy” had left. Like she just knew that one day that he’d return and was just waiting for that moment, biding her time with her childe until that day arrived – and by all appearances it happened not too far from their normal future. 

That realization nearly brought him to his knees. 

Doyle eyed the vampire with sympathy. It was a lot to take in, but better to get it all out of the way now. Leave no room for any misunderstanding later. He stood, walking over to where the vampire sat, gazing off into nothingness. 

Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, Doyle told him, “I can stay for a while if you like.” 

“Nah… Tell me something, mate.”

“Sure. If I can.” 

“Could we go back now? If we really wanted to… me or the Slayer?” 

“I wouldn’t say it was an impossibility.” 

“And, if we did… would the same thing happen… like those pictures you showed me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Even—?” 

“Yes, even that. Face it, Spike. You were meant to be hers. Only here… here she loves you. Now. As you are. Would you throw it all away?” 

Spike was silent. 

“You’re going to tell her.” 

The vampire gained his feet and confronted the half-breed. “I’ll not be wonderin’ if she thinks about him. About ‘what if?’. Sure, she says she loves me, but if she had a chance to go home, what then?” 

“Then give her the chance and see if she takes it. I’m sure you’ll be quite surprised at her reaction. Only, you can’t tell her what’s to come. That little ‘peek’ was for your benefit. To make this an easier pill for you to swallow.” 

Spike relaxed his stance when he realized he wasn’t going to have to fight his friend. 

“And for Pete’s sake, tell her you love her already and put _me_ out of my misery!” Then, he was gone, leaving silence to descend upon Spike’s study. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

The closer Spike got to the bedroom as he retraced his steps, the louder the Slayer’s crying seemed to be. Only her sobs were silent, her anguish unconsciously ripping into him through the claim. He didn’t know how she did it, how she’d managed to tap into what had heretofore been a one-sided deal. But, each keening wail that wracked her body called to him. 

Made him hurry to right the wrong he’d perpetuated with his sudden disappearance. 

Spike paused just inside the door, taking in the huddled figure on the bed. She’d no more than rolled to her side and clutched a pillow to hold close before giving vent to her sorrow, not even bothering with the covers. 

The Slayer gave no notice that he was back, and his feet closed the distance between them until he was sitting on the bed his back to the headboard, so that he could pull her into his arms. His presence just seemed to make her cry harder, and it wasn’t long before his bare chest was soaked with her renewed tears. 

With her snuggled up against his left side, he used his right hand and combed his fingers through her hair, fanning the darkened tresses down her bare back. His touch comforting, and for once, not the least bit sexual. There was something about her tears that got to him, and it made it that much worse that he’d been the cause of them this time. 

Gradually, her crying lessened, then faded altogether as she fell into a light sleep, lulled by his soothing touch and whispered nonsensical words. She didn’t sleep long, maybe half an hour. When she awoke, she seemed shocked that he was there with her. Her confusion barely masked her hurt as she lifted her head from his chest to look at him. 

He spoke without thinking, posing the question aloud so that he couldn’t call it back, no matter how much he might want to. 

“If you could…if there were a way… would you go back? Right now?”


	38. Chapter 38

_“If you could… if there were a way… would you go back? Right now?”_

In that moment, as Buffy stared up into Spike’s handsome features, she could imagine what he’d been like as a human. Emotions so deep that they contradicted everything ever written by the Council regarding vampires were blazing from the depths of eyes so deep a blue their color couldn’t be properly described. Hope. Want. Lust. Fear. _Love._ A gamut of emotions he thought he’d been able to hide. 

But, Buffy knew different. She’d learned each and every tiny nuance that would hint at his mood during this past year. Now, as she gazed upon his torn expression, she couldn’t help but ease the trepidation snaking through his body. 

“No.” 

Just one word. One little word that allowed the final barrier to come crashing down. 

Before she could draw breath, Buffy found herself crushed beneath her husband as he rolled them over, his mouth plundering hers. Making her prove herself in actions – that she was his and wanted to be with him. Wanted to stay here with him. To allow the hand that had been dealt them to play its course. 

Spike tore his mouth from hers with a groan. “Gahhh… Slayer. Can’t… gotta…” He rocked his hips against hers, reaching down with one hand to tug frantically at the fastenings of his breeches. The moment his cock sprang free he was guiding himself towards the damp curls hiding her sex. He felt the Slayer’s hand on his hips, still shoving at the offending material as she tried to get his pants off. But he couldn’t wait; he had to have her right now, and with a quick lunge of his hips, he was sliding home. 

“Oh, pet… mmmmm… so wet for me. Perfect,” he gasped as he lay there, basking in the moment – the feel of her clenched around him damn near the most perfect thing he’d ever felt. Beneath him, Spike could feel her feet as they slid down his legs, taking his pants down as she went, only satisfied once nothing remained between them. Then her legs were wrapped around his hips, holding him in place. 

For the first time ever, he was ruled by his emotions, his normal seduction of the Slayer gone by the wayside in the face of her confession. His reaction was instinctive – both demon and man were thrilling at the fact that she’d chosen him. That he wasn’t just leftovers, seconds, what one settled for when their first choice was taken. 

They wanted to stake their claim, laud in their victory. 

“Tell me again,” he murmured huskily in her ear as he began to thrust rhythmically within her wet heat. 

“W-wa… wanna stay… wi-with you,” she managed to choke out around his powerful thrusts. She was so close, his cock hitting her just so when he ground his hips into her cleft each time he filled her. 

“Tell me, baby. Tell me why you wanna stay.”

“L-love you.”

“Again! Say it again,” he practically begged. 

“Love you,” she answered more forcefully. 

“Buffy…” he groaned. 

The sound of her name on his lips was her undoing; her body flew over the edge sure in the knowledge that he would catch her. That he would be there for her. 

A moment later, his fangs unerringly found the marks he’d gifted her with upon claiming her. Like the first time, he dug deep, demon and man in full accord. The words wouldn’t come just yet, but he could give her this. And just hoped she understood. 

He felt her gasp at the pain, and like a repeat of before, he ripped his fangs from her throat, leaning up on his outstretched hands to stare down at her in his demon visage. His hips never relenting in his powerful thrusts as he watched her blood spill from the gash he’d made to begin a slow trail towards her collarbone. 

“You’re mine,” he growled possessively. “Mine!” 

Something in his tone forced Buffy to open her eyes and stare at him. With his demon prominent and her blood smeared on his face, she should have been scared, knowing that her death was imminent. Something in his eyes was telling her something, something that he wanted – no _needed_ – from her. Going with her instincts, she raised her hand and caressed one side of the harsh ridges above his brow. 

He stilled with her touch, only she didn’t feel it, too intent on her task. Her other hand lifted to copy the actions of the first. A soft smile graced her lips when he attempted to lean into her touch – like a cat seeking the attentions of its master. Her fingers continued their twin track down the outer edges of his eyes and along the sharp contour of his cheeks. Applying slight pressure, she guided his head to her, enabling her tongue to dart out and lick at the blood coating his lips. The metallic tang was no surprise, having tasted her own blood before. 

What did surprise her was his reaction to her tender ministrations. The hard glint was back in his eyes. She could feel the tightly coiled tension in his body as if he was waiting for some signal from her to let it free reign. It caused a tiny shiver to race along her spine. 

Then she remembered. 

_“Mine! Say it!”_

_“Yours. Now and forever.”_

“Blood of my blood. Forever marked mine.” 

“Yours… now and forever,” she avowed. 

It took all the control he possessed to not react violently to her words. His demon was exalting at her capitulation, ready to take what had been given him without thinking. But Spike wanted more. Now that he’d accepted her love and was opening himself up to return it, he wanted the softness, the tenderness. To just experience lovemaking without the cold manipulation he’d always employed in the past, as if to distance himself from her, and what she made him feel. 

So, instead of ravaging her body and staking his claim, he slowly lowered himself until he was lying flush atop her. His human mask slid back into place and he braced himself on one arm so that he could brush her hair back from her face. 

Then he was moving. Agonizingly slow strokes that stretched her inner walls as he filled her, leaving her bereft when he was gone. Time lost all meaning – neither seemed inclined to increase their movements. Rather, both languished in the unhurried pace, senses tuned to where his length glided in and out of her core. 

Spike watched her expressive face at each thrust, how she tried to maintain eye contact, only to lose against the onslaught of sensation. The way she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. The feel of her hands roaming over his body, the soft caress alternating to having her nails dig into his skin when he surged back into her depths, played havoc with his ironclad control. But maintain it, he did, determined that this time would be different – that she would know it was, even if he couldn’t express it himself in so many words. 

Their climaxes caught them completely unaware. Buffy gasping in shock, eyes closed against the intensity as it ripped through her body. Spike groaned, her inner walls milking him just so, so that he barely remembered to complete the claiming ritual as he filled her womb with his seed. 

_“Blood of my blood. Forever marked mine.”_

Something he did willingly this time. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Over the next several months, Buffy and Spike settled into a routine. While he was ensconced in his study seeing to his vast holdings, she spent her time with Renee. With a strong command of the French language under her belt and a sudden thirst to learn more, she expanded her studies to include anything she felt an interest in. And with such a good teacher and the one-on-one atmosphere – not to mention the fact that there wasn’t really a lot of distraction to prevent her learning, she excelled at whatever topic she undertook. Her nose was constantly in some book or other, and when she wasn’t brushing up on her book-smarts, she was learning the art of fencing. 

This was when Spike would step in. Sometimes participating, other times just watching the two women face off against each other. 

Their intimate circle expanded marginally to include others from the Aurelian line. Viscount Sotheby was the first to learn of the Slayer’s secret, only doing so at Renee’s insistence that he could be trusted. Spike eventually told the Earl of Hawkingstone and the Marquess of Eaglethorpe himself, him having formed a bond with both men back at the first vampire function they’d attended. Clayton’s close friend Alric Townsend, youngest son of Viscount Waverly, was also eventually told. 

All four had been shocked, stunned that they’d been in a slayer’s presence and were unable to tell. It had led to Spike telling them the complete story. How they’d been sent back in time and were at the mercy of the Powers as to the longevity of their stay. It was done so that in the event of their sudden departure, the vampires could smooth over their absence if there was need. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“I’m tired of being a brunette,” Buffy complained to Renee, closing the book she’d been reading in a fit of pique. 

Renee glanced at the book of horticulture in the Slayer’s lap and chuckled. “From flowers to hair, that’s quite a switch.” 

Buffy stood suddenly, the unconscious grace of her movements not lost on her friend. She’d come a long way in the year and a half that she’d been here. 

“I want to party. I want to dance. Not that I don’t love it out here in the country… but... London was _nice_. There were _people_ there!” she complained. Seeing her friend’s hurt expression, she rushed to her side, taking the vampiress’ hands in her own. “Not that I don’t think you’re not people…’ cause… well, you are. It’s just…” 

“You’re tired of being cooped up,” Renee concluded. 

“Exactly. And, I know I’ll no sooner be back in London a week than I’m dying to come back to the nice quiet life I’ve got out here. But I need a change. Something. _Anything_.” 

Standing, Renee pulled her friend to her feet. 

“Well, let’s start with your hair first then, shall we.” 

Buffy smiled back. 

“Oh yes!”

~*~*~*~*~

“Cut it,” Buffy pleaded. 

Renee looked aghast at her friend while the servant poised behind the Slayer quivered in fear. 

“The Marquess would kill me for allowing you to do that,” Renee objected. 

“Just a little bit,” she whined. “It’s just so heavy. Maybe to the middle of my back?” 

Renee looked at the servant and nodded. Heather visibly swallowed then did as she was bade, cringing when the first dark lock fell away. Seeing her mistress’ excitement, however, was contagious and soon the maid was happily snipping away with her shears until the length rested at the bottom of her shoulder blades. 

When she noticed that Heather was finished, Buffy turned to where another was mixing several different batches of something. 

“Relax, Buffy. Women have been coloring their hair for ages. And, I have it on good authority that Sophie here does excellent work. She’s from France, and the skill has been passed down in her family for several generations.” 

The Slayer mumbled a polite hello in French. She’d seen the girl a time or two, but with as large as Chadsworth Estates was, she really had yet to be on a first name basis with even half of the servants. Still, the girl was doing her a huge service, and she spoke politely to her in French as the various mixtures were applied to her hair.

~*~*~*~*~

“You’re bringing out the big guns,” Renee commented as she snuck inside Buffy’s bedchamber – said bedroom used only to house the Slayer’s extensive collection of gowns and frippery; she slept with her husband next door each night. Buffy was seated before her vanity garbed in the red gown Spike loved so much. “How did you manage to avoid him all day?” 

“I hid,” she told her friend conspiratorially. “As for the other… well, I figure between wearing this dress and having Clayton and the others present; he can’t very well yell at me, right?” 

“I think it’s safe to assume that him yelling at you will be the least of your worries,” Renee replied. The two women shared a look before they each burst out laughing. 

“Come on,” Buffy replied, before she could lose her courage. She looped her arm through Renee’s and walked towards the door. “Let’s go see if his growl is worse than his bite.” 

On the main floor, the two women headed straight for the Marquess’ study, where the men were no doubt engaging in a pre-dinner beverage. Buffy took a calming breath, then the two sailed into the room as if nothing were amiss. 

Spike was deep in conversation with the three vampires but paused when he felt the Slayer draw near. All eyes turned towards the door where, a moment later, Renee and Buffy entered. He’d sensed her nervousness as she neared and his brows had drawn together, wondering what it was that could possibly be troubling her. 

As he got his first good look, well, if his heart wasn’t already unbeating within his chest, it would have stopped right then. _‘This was what she was nervous about?’_ he thought incredulously. Mind consuming lust was instantaneous, and he excused himself from the three vampires with one thought running rampant through his brain. 

Buffy glanced over to where Spike was moving away from the others to slowly stalk her. And he was. Stalking her. There was no other term that could describe his deliberate path. 

“Uh… William…” She called him William around everyone else to keep in practice; Spike would hardly go over well among the rest of the ton. “William… I can explain…” 

She took a step backwards, hiding shamelessly behind Renee, and slowly eased her way towards the door. When she peered over her friend’s shoulder, she noticed he was getting closer, and a glance at the others in the room revealed their amusement. She took another step backwards. 

“Got the right idea, pet,” Spike told her. “I’ll even give you a head start seeing as your legs are hampered by those skirts.” 

“But, _Spike_ …” she wailed. She’d yet to really get a good look at his expression. If she had, she would have realized that anger wasn’t even close to what he was feeling right now. Renee shook her head. Like she’d told her friend, who’d clearly not understood her meaning, a good yelling was the least of her worries. 

“I assume, Lord Arundel, that we’re not to hold dinner for you?” Renee drawled. 

“Wait? _What_?” Buffy finally got a gander of Spike’s expression and a bolt of lust shot through her. “I guess that means you like it?” she hazarded to ask. 

“Slayer, if you don’t want the others to see how much I _like_ it, I suggest you get a move on.” 

Buffy darted for the door. 

Spike was right behind her. 

“Pour me a glass of that, would you, Clayton?” Renee asked as the study door slammed shut behind Spike.


	39. Chapter 39

The bed was in shambles; the two figures exhausted and thoroughly replete lay among the tattered remains of the linens. From her position sprawled atop Spike, Buffy groaned when her stomach growled, too tired to get up from her cozy position to stop the noise. 

“Come on, pet. Let’s get you something to eat,” he coaxed, moving to set her aside so that he could get up. 

“Don’t wanna,” she mumbled sleepily in the crook of his neck. “Later.” 

Spike tightened his arms about her as she drifted off to sleep, smirking in satisfaction that he’d managed to wear her out... again. He’d give her an hour then shake her awake; she needed something in her stomach with all the blood he was constantly taking from her. Purring contentedly, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of her slow and steady heartbeat, feeling her chest cavity expand beneath his fingers as she breathed deeply. 

The other had already gone off to the Marquess of Darderwyne’s estate. It had been decided amongst the small group to include the two in Spike and Buffy’s secret. Both Esme and Derrick had proven themselves loyal and discreet – Esme being a close acquaintance with the Marchioness of Haversham and Derrick having a keen mind and a head for business, much like himself. 

Although they still had roughly twenty years left before whatever this thing that Doyle had mentioned necessitated them having to “fulfill their destiny,” it wouldn’t hurt to begin amassing a select few generals to see their plans – whatever they might be – carried out. 

An hour later, Spike nudged the Slayer awake. 

“Time to get up, love. I’m sure the others are waiting for us.” 

The Slayer ignored him, of course, grumbling under her breath sleepily and burrowing closer to him. Spike took a moment to bask in her affection before his hand descended on her ass with a loud thwap. 

Buffy bolted upright at the sting of Spike’s palm, peppering the air with her expletives while rubbing her offended posterior. She glared at him, her chest heaving at the sudden adrenaline rush and ire at having been spanked causing her breasts to bob up and down becomingly. 

His playful look turned to one of intent as Spike lifted his hand to caress one of the pale globes. But before he could reach his target, the Slayer had vaulted off him and jumped from the bed. His face betrayed his frustration, mouth open in silent objection as he stared at her retreating back. 

_‘There’s always later,’_ he assured himself and Spike closed his mouth and rose as well. His delicate ears picked up her mutterings – which had him suppressing a chuckle when she grumbled about being spanked like some misbehaving two-year-old – as she stalked towards the dress and undergarments that, amazingly, she’d managed to shed without incident before he could get his hands on her. Spike was set to tell her about his little “love tap” but thought better of it; the conversation would most likely lead to a demonstration then they _really_ would never get out of there. 

He got hard just thinking about it, and he eyed his erection with disgust and reached for his pants. His damn dick seemed to have a mind of its own sometimes. 

When Buffy had gotten all the frilly undergarments on that she could manage without assistance, she grabbed her corset and walked towards Spike. 

“I need help,” she grumbled. Neither her maid nor his manservant entered the master bedchamber when both were within. And even if she’d crossed through the connecting door to her own bedroom, her maid wouldn’t have been inside. Buffy had dismissed the girl for the evening since they’d planned on staying over at the Marquess of Darderwyne’s place. Well, that was the plan anyway. All being based on the vampires’ reaction to what she and Spike told them. 

Buffy thrust the constricting garment towards him, which he took a little warily. Spike was a pro at pulling – more like ripping – the things off her. Not the other way around. She presented him her back, but when she didn’t feel him move behind her to help, she turned back around. And rolled her eyes. He was just standing there, holding the thing between thumb and forefinger with something akin to shock. 

“Oh for—” she griped. “Gimme that.” 

She snatched the corset out of his hands and fixed it around her abdomen. “Now, lace me up already. And, not too tight!” 

He seemed to snap out of whatever trance he’d been in and worked his fingers over the laces until she was strung up tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey. _So much for listening…_

As much as she liked the way the corset made her look, she’d be happy when she no longer had to use one. Never again would she complain about the bras of the underwire-variety. Those things had nothing on the contraption she was currently wearing! She struggled to draw a deep breath, but like any other time, realized it was a lesson in futility and settled for what amounted to a slight pant to draw necessary air into her lungs. 

His hands hadn’t moved from her waist and Buffy struggled not to react to his nearness. If they didn’t get out of this room soon, they never would. 

“H-help me with my dress?” she asked softly. 

Neither moved for the space of a moment. Then finally, Spike stepped away and walked over to where her red dress lay over the back of a chair, returning quickly and easing the garment over her head. 

The act – him dressing her – seemed to make her breath hitch. The intimacy of the moment not lost on her. It was the first time he’d done this role reversal. He seemed to be just as affected as she, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders as the red material fell to the floor around her body. 

She felt him lean in to her, brushing her hair to the side so that he could do up the tiny row of buttons along her back. Felt each one as his fingers manipulated the closures, goose bumps rising on her flesh in answer to his nearness, his touch. By the time he’d reached the last one at the nape of her neck, Buffy was a bundle of nerves, her body thrumming with need. 

She knew he could smell her. Knew that just the slight tang of her desire was enough to see her back in bed and him thrusting between her parted thighs. Her body tensed as if preparing for it.

Spike closed his eyes and ground his teeth. The heady scent of her arousal was causing his cock to harden almost painfully. 

Even though they’d been going at it for the last three hours. It was a constant hunger, being surrounded by her heat. Almost as if burying himself in her tight quim was more important than the blood he consumed to keep the demon alive. 

Spike knew she was more than willing, her body strung tight, knowing that he was going to throw her over his shoulder and march her back to bed. He struggled with his need. Determined, for once, to be its master. 

But he couldn’t resist just a little taste, especially given so blatant an invitation. 

He lowered his head, his tongue tracing the distended line that pulsed with her life’s blood. His face shifted, his fangs piercing her flesh until they struck gold. Spike wasn’t able to prevent the possessive growl that erupted from his throat, or the way he tightened his arms around her middle to hold her close. 

Buffy moaned at the pleasure-pain of his bite, her head falling back against his chest. It was a good thing he had such a good grip on her, or she would have slumped to the floor in a boneless heap. The feel of his fangs buried in her neck was oddly erotic. He didn’t take much, just a small sip. Enough to get her motor kicked into high gear and left running. 

Almost as quickly as he started, it was over. His tongue lapping at the fresh marks upon her neck. His lips trailing open-mouthed kisses along her sensitive flesh. If tonight hadn’t been so important, she might have turned around in his arms and shoved him down upon the bed – the aggressor for once. Instead, she struggled to regain her equilibrium, pulling away from him to see about putting a brush to her hair. There was no way she was going to be able to style it; she’d have to settle on getting rid of the tangles and letting it fall free down her back. 

And since Spike seemed to like it down, she didn’t worry about her lack of a perfectly coiffed hairdo. 

~*~*~*~*~

Both Derrick and Esme were stunned at the news. The two stared at Spike then Buffy and back again before turning their gazes to the other vampires that had instinctively taken up supportive positions behind the two. 

“Slayer?”

“Time travel?” 

The two spoke at once. Both trying to come to grips with the story they’d just been told. 

“So, what are you saying exactly? That the world regresses to the point that vampires become bloodthirsty savages that skulk about in the shadows? No clans that keep their childer in line?” Derrick asked, incredulous. 

“Something like that, yes,” Spike replied. “Hell…by the time I’m turned, these houses, such as they are, are practically non-existent. Vampires live underground, coming out at night only to feed. I was the rare exception in being chosen, coddled and trained by my sire and my grandsire. Most vamps nowadays are spawned by other, equally weak, fledglings. There is no order, only the kill.” 

The vampires seemed to shake their heads at the near extinction of their way of life. A sense of loss for an uncertain future casting a pall over the group. 

“Is that what you’re here for, what the Slay—Buffy is here for?” Esme asked. 

“We don’t know,” Buffy replied honestly. “All I was told… all _we_ were told, was that we’re here to ‘fulfill our destiny’. We’re probably going to catch flack for letting you in on our secret, but, I sorta spilled the beans with Renee, and well…” The Slayer gestured to the other three males behind Spike. 

“What is it you want us to do?” Derrick asked. 

“Yes, why tell us?” Esme added. 

“Because I don’t know what I’m up against, and I’ve come to… care… about you all. I don’t want to see you get caught in the crossfire when this thing goes down,” Buffy spoke before Spike could. Seven sets of eyes shifted towards her. “What? I’m just saying.” 

Esme walked over to her friend – a Slayer – and embraced her warmly. “What do you need us to do?” 

“Train. Learn. Anything and everything,” Buffy replied. 

“And start liquidating some of your assets… _discreetly_ ,” Spike added. Derrick caught what the master vampire didn’t say. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t likely to end well. Money would be needed to pave the way for a new life somewhere else once whatever was destined to occur came to pass. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Although her given name was Elizabeth, the Countess of Arundel, soon to become Marchioness of Chadsworth at her father-in-law’s passing shortly after her wedding, was known amongst the ton as Lady Buffy, until all recorded documents seemed to reflect the nickname,” Giles murmured aloud as he read. “The Lord and Lady were the toast of London and it was said that invitations to the annual ball held at the Marquess’ ancestral home were highly coveted by everyone. While most marriages amongst the nobility were to increase one’s station and wealth, theirs was a love match. And, even though the Marchioness of Chadsworth never bore the Marquess an heir, he doted on his wife until their unfortunate—” 

“What?” Xander questioned anxiously. “Their unfortunate what?” 

“Deaths,” Giles replied quietly. “Nearly twenty years later.” 

“But, that’s not possible!” Willow gasped. “She’s… she’s…” Her voice trailed off. 

“What else does it say?” Xander asked. 

“That’s it,” the watcher remarked, the book falling carelessly from his hands as the enormity of the situation hit him. He collapsed in one of the chairs and whipped off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. 

“But… that’s not fair!” Willow whined. “She’s good! Surely fate wouldn’t let something like that happen to her!” 

“Yeah!” Xander added. “And, it wasn’t like she was supposed to be there.” 

Giles looked over sharply at Xander. “What did you say?” 

“Uh… she wasn’t supposed to be there?” 

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before… Xander, you’re a genius.” 

“I know… wait! _What_?” 

“Ethan. He must have cast some type of spell… invoked Janus before I could crush the statue.” 

Willow stood up, excited. “So, if we figure out what spell he cast, we can reverse it?” The redhead did a giddy jig, excited at the prospect, that hope of seeing her friend alive again wasn’t lost. 

“That is my hope, yes,” the watcher replied. 

“I guess this means more research, huh?” Xander griped, but good-naturedly, tempered by the prospect of seeing his friend returned safely to her time. 

In the midst of their babbling excitement, Cordelia got up and went to one of the computers that indexed the school’s library books. 

“Uh, Cordy, what are you doing?” Xander asked as she moved away. 

“Research. What else?” 

“I don’t think you’re gonna find spell books in there,” he told her condescendingly. 

She looked at him, one delicate brow arching as she looked down her nose at him. “Duh! I’m looking for books on English history. See if I can find out exactly what happened to Buffy… and Spike.” 

Giles hadn’t thought of that, and nodded approvingly at the girl as he got up and walked to his office to retrieve even more books, this time on spells of the chaotic, time-traveling nature. 

But there was a pep in his step that hadn’t been there before. He just might be able to have his slayer back in her own time before he had to explain to her mother why her daughter was suddenly missing. 

A conversation he could cheerfully do without.


	40. Chapter 40

With a last glance behind her, Buffy stepped up into the waiting carriage. It was time to go back to London. 

After letting Derrick and Esme in on their secret, Spike had concluded that they’d spent enough time _rusticating_ – as he liked to put it – out in the country. To get Buffy used to the more rigid structures of society – the vampires seemingly losing their formal manners the moment they were away from humans – he held a few social engagements at the estate; nothing too grandiose, just a few close friends and acquaintances – vampire and human. 

Buffy had accessed her memories, the time she’d been more Elizabeth than Buffy, and was grateful that the grace and poise she’d been gifted with during her amnesiac bout hadn’t deserted her completely. When the last carriage had left after the first of several such parties, she’d been beaming with pride at her accomplishments and eager to share.

“Come on, Slayer, get your arse in the bloody carriage already,” Spike grumbled from behind her, shaking her from her reverie. She threw a glare over her shoulder, just to let him know what she thought of his griping, then climbed the few steps that would gain her entry into the plush interior of the conveyance. 

Buffy had barely managed to get her skirts settled around her when suddenly Spike vaulted inside and plopped himself in the space right beside her. For having such a compact physique, he managed to take up the majority of the seat. She rolled her eyes at him and tugged her skirts from where they were trapped beneath his leg, a long-suffering sigh escaping her mouth. Secretly, she was pleased; him sitting next to her afforded herself her own personal pillow. With the long journey ahead, Buffy knew it wouldn’t be long before the gently swaying of the coach would lull her to sleep. 

Not even bothering to wait, she leaned against him, smiling inwardly when his arm automatically went around her shoulder, drawing her close. A few moments later, they were on their way back to London. 

~*~*~*~*~

The carriage rolled to a stop a few hours before sunrise. When Spike climbed down and looked around, it took him a moment to realize that the driver hadn’t stopped before his townhouse, but his father’s. Well, _his_ now. 

He turned automatically, helping the Slayer alight. They’d stay here for now and after he woke, he’d see about a personnel change. Because there was _no_ way he was going to keep his father’s main servants around, being that they were probably completely unaware of what he was. 

The door opened without his prompt and he was shocked to see his own butler, Higgins, at the door. Maybe his staff had taken care of the “problem” for him; he’d have to speak with Higgins or Travis a bit later. Right now, the forthcoming dawn was urging him to sleep – the jolting ride in the carriage hadn’t helped either – so he left the details of seeing to his things to his butler and led Buffy upstairs.

~*~*~*~*~

A fire was going in the hearth and a nightcap was waiting for him, no doubt freshly poured upon word of his arrival. All the comforts he’d come to expect. 

There was a brief knock at the door and a moment later, Travis entered. 

“Good evening, m’lord. Will you be needing anything?” 

Spike looked over at the Slayer as she sat down wearily in one of the chairs near the fireplace. 

“Something to drink, please?” Buffy asked tiredly. 

“I’ll see to it at once, m’lady,” Travis replied. A moment later he was out the door and bent on his task. 

When the door clicked shut behind his valet, Spike walked over to where the goblet of blood sat waiting for him. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he wasn’t one to let fresh blood go to waste. A few quick gulps and he was through, returning the cup to the tray for removal upon his man’s return. 

Travis was back a moment later with the Slayer’s drink, leaving a tray by her chair before grabbing the glass he’d left earlier for his master. 

“Will you require anything else, m’lord?” 

“No… thank you, Travis,” Spike mumbled distractedly. 

“Very good, sir.” 

He left as quietly as he came, closing the bedroom door softly behind him. 

“Come on, pet. Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured as he stepped in front of her. He reached down and drew her to her feet, turning her back to him so that he could start unbuttoning the numerous fastenings of her gown. She was half asleep and followed his directions blindly, stepping out of the middle of the circle her dress made as it fell to the floor. His fingers tore in to the fastenings of her corset, smirking behind her back when she released her pent up breath. Bloody torture device is what it was. The rest of her undergarment fell away, leaving her bare to his gaze. 

Spike swung her up into his arms and placed her on the bed, quickly shedding his own clothes and joining her. As soon as he slid beneath the covers, she was rolling towards him, cuddling close and drifting off to sleep. The ride in the carriage must have worn him out too, because he just wrapped his arms around her and drifted off to sleep as well. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy hesitated before Spike’s study, unsure whether or not she should knock. In the country, she hadn’t bothered, the atmosphere at his ancestral home very relaxed. But here, back in London and subject to the gossiping tongues of the servants, she just wasn’t sure of the exact protocol. 

The door opened before she could debate further, and she found her arms roughly grabbed by Spike and dragged inside. Then she was thrust against the door, forcing it closed, as he leaned in and kissed her senseless. 

She wasn’t quite sure what had set him off, but she was more than happy to engage in some kissage. Buffy dragged air into her lungs when he finally released her mouth to trail kisses along her jaw and neck. 

“Taste so good,” he mumbled against her skin. 

Buffy whimpered helplessly in his arms, her traitorous body reacting to him like she hadn’t spent several hours this morning doing this very thing. She guessed he was making up for last night. 

“Uh… Spike?” She tried to get his attention after another toe-curling kiss. “William? Spike!” 

Buffy was panting heavily by now, and the half-lidded gaze he directed her way… 

_‘Focus, Buffy!’_

“Renee… luncheon… remember?” It wasn’t much in the way of coherency but it was a start. 

“Cancel,” he coaxed, nibbling on her ear for a minute. “Send a note ‘round that you’re not feeling well. I’ll ditch the paperwork and we can go back to bed.” 

Which was oh so tempting, she thought. When Spike began teasing the marks on her neck, she was just about ready to give in. 

“Carriage!” she gasped out, suddenly remembering. 

“How long?” 

“Maybe… mmmmmm…” She moaned, she couldn’t help it. He was grinding his erection against her cleft. Rather than push him away, she hauled him closer. “…ten minutes…” 

Ten minutes was plenty of time. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Have fun, pet,” Spike called out cheerfully as she walked down the hallway towards the front door. 

The look Buffy gave him should have withered him on the spot, but only made him chuckle out loud. Perverse vampire could have probably brought her off in half the time, but did he? No! As it was, Renee was going to know _exactly_ what had made her late. And when the two of them were alone, she was sure to be subject to her friend’s teasing. 

Spike was _so_ going to get it when she got home. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“The Marquess of Brummidge, m’lady,” Renee’s butler announced upon entering the sitting room. The women had finished their meal and were engaging in some after-lunch banter. 

“Show him in, Fitzhugh.” 

Celeste Devlin looked up as her brother, Marcus, was announced. Though she was engaged to be married, for some reason, he saw fit to escort her about whenever her fiancé wasn’t with her and had dropped her off at the Marchioness’ home earlier with instructions that he’d return late this afternoon. Why he was here so soon was something of a mystery to the girl. 

Seated beside her friend, Celeste, Buffy, too, looked towards the entry as the heir to the Duke of Rutherford walked inside. She remembered the first time she’d met him, how his eyes had swept over her body in an entirely too forward glance – how her inner “Elizabeth” had been grateful that she’d already belonged to another. 

Now, as she took in his appearance, the dark, nearly black hair that was slightly longer than current fashion, damp from the recent rain that had descended upon the city; his equally dark, thick brows that drew together as his eyes swept over the room of ladies present, Buffy could only thank the stars once again that she belonged to Spike. His stare, when his gaze finally locked with hers, was no less intense now. The color of his eyes appeared almost black. Only, there was no “I-want-to-eat-you-up-the-first-chance-I-get” to his gaze; instead, he looked upon her with the respect befitting her station – the claimed wife of a master vampire of the Aurelius line. 

Buffy thought she saw regret flicker behind his eyes before he managed to tear his gaze away from her to walk over and greet Renee, murmuring acknowledgements to various ladies along the way. 

“Lady Haversham, so good to see you again. My business concluded early and, since I was due to pick up Celeste in an hour or so, I decided to wait out my time here… if that’s all right with you,” he greeted as he bent over her hand and brushed a soft kiss against the cool flesh. Then for her ears alone he added, “I need to speak with Lady Chadsworth… alone.” 

“You’re more than welcome to stay, m’lord. I just hope we don’t bore you to tears with talk of balls and such. Mayhap you’d like to while away the time in my study? Over a good brandy?” 

“You’re a true gem, Renee,” he murmured aloud, relinquishing his grip and standing upright. “I’ll see myself out.” 

Polite goodbyes rang out from the assembled ladies as he made his way to the door. 

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy walked cautiously down the deserted hallway towards Renee’s study. Her nervousness knew no bounds as she drew closer to the room that the male vampire was waiting within. Renee hadn’t said what the Marquess wanted, only that he needed to speak with her alone. Her first thought was that something had happened to Spike, before she dismissed it out of hand. Surely she would have known if anything were to have happened to him. Hadn’t he said that she was tied to him now?

So, if not Spike, then who? 

She opened the door and quickly stepped inside, breathing a sigh of relief when she noticed him across the room. 

The look was back. Regret, mixed with reluctance. As if he didn’t want to share whatever it was that he was about to tell her. 

“Lady Chadsworth… please… sit,” he greeted, gesturing to one of the chaise lounges. “Would you like a drink?” 

“No… I don’t… that is… I wouldn’t want to be caught alone—” 

Marcus smiled. A true smile that lit up his dark eyes and hinted at the mischievous boy he no doubt once was. Buffy smiled in return, feeling more comfortable without his penetrating stare directed her way. 

“Don’t worry.” He tapped his ear. “I’d hear them. And, well, let’s just say that _that_ …” He inclined his head towards the door she’d just entered. “…isn’t the only way out of here.” 

“Renee… the Marchioness said you wanted to speak with me.” 

“Yes. Only—” 

The vampire hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the subject matter. 

“Only?” Buffy drew the word out, hoping he’d continue. 

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth—” 

“Buffy,” she responded automatically. 

“Buffy?” he asked, confused. 

“Yes, Buffy. My friends call me Buffy.” 

“Friends? I… I’d like that… Buffy.” 

The two shared another smile before the Marquess’ expression grew grim. 

“I’m sorry, Buffy… there’s just no real easy way to say this. And, I’m only telling you because I was aware how close you two were… and being as I was the one that happened upon her coach—” 

Marcus was ready to stake himself. He was rambling like some lovesick youth in his first crush. But what he needed to tell the girl was important. Only, he knew what was going to happen afterward, and he really didn’t want to have to deal with the weeping woman he’d soon have on his hands. Maybe he should have just told Renee and let _her_ tell Buffy. Word was that the two were very close, that the Marchioness had spent much of her time the last two years in the company of the girl seated before him. 

Ah, hindsight. 

There was no help for it. 

“I… the reason I’m here so early, is that my business was delayed. As I was on my way out of London, I happened upon Mrs. Rothworth’s coach. She was apparently on her way into town. There’d been signs of a struggle, her faithful coachman had been shot, was slowly bleeding to death, and my own driver couldn’t do anything to save him. I’m sorry, Buffy… but, she’s dust.” 

Buffy stared at the vampire in shock. 

Her chaperone, former chaperone, was gone. 

“I’ve got runner out,” the vampire was saying. “We’ve got to head them off… before they have a chance to talk. They’ll no doubt hide somewhere safe until nightfall, when the need to spend their bounty will overtake their common sense and they slink off to the seaside taverns.” 

Buffy hadn’t moved. Was just staring at the vampire while he continued to speak. 

“I was hoping you might know where your husband is currently, so that I don’t have to waste valuable time tracking him down.” 

“Home,” she murmured. 

“He’s at home?” he asked. 

“I need to go home,” she told him, her voice that of a small child. 

“Certainly. I’ll take you there at once. Let me just retrieve Celeste.” 

He waited a moment for her to nod. To show some sign that she’d heard him. After a minute, in which she just sat there unmoving, he quickly excused himself to get his sister. Marcus didn’t elaborate, just asked Celeste to make her goodbyes and that Lady Chadsworth wasn’t feeling well and he’d be seeing her home. Renee gave him a hard stare to which he just gave a slight shake of his head. He’d tell her later tonight. 

Once the two women were settled inside the carriage and out of the rain, he climbed up, yelling for his driver to make haste to the Marquess of Chadsworth’s residence. He had barely shut the door and settled in his seat when the driver cracked his whip, the conveyance jolting slightly as the horses lunged into motion. 


	41. Chapter 41

It took everything in him to stay home when he felt her. 

_Pain._

His slayer was in pain and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it at the moment. 

He wanted to leave. To rush out of his house and find her. Kill whatever it was that had dared to hurt her. To take her in his arms and ease the ache that had seemed to settle in and around her heart. 

But he stayed where he was and waited for her to come to him. 

And he knew she would. There was no doubt she was on her way home right this very moment. 

Which was why he wouldn’t leave. 

He didn’t want to chance missing her. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Marcus was nervous. 

As the heir to the Duke of Rutherford, his place in life was secure. His title commanded the respect – and fear – of the ton. His entrance into whatever function polite society held, guaranteed. But, as a fledge, less than a decade in years? 

Not so much the sure thing. 

He’d barely been introduced to Buffy’s husband, the current Marquess of Chadsworth, even though both men shared common friends in the Marquess of Darderwyne and Eaglethorpe, and the Earl of Hawkingstone – barely remembered the mock fight he had with him at the Marquess of Darderwyne’s home a few years ago. All three had had nothing but good things to say about the master vampire, all enjoying the Marquess’ quick wit and business acumen, and his skill on the hunt. 

Which, truth be told, really didn’t tell him much. 

Like how the master vampire was going to react upon him returning his wife to his side, upset and near tears. 

Then it was too late. The carriage had screeched to a halt outside the vampire’s home, leaving Marcus no choice but to open the door and hurry Buffy inside. 

He was drenched almost immediately, the rain having kicked up on their drive in, almost like it sensed the emotions of the woman he was assisting and had unleashed its fury to complement her pain. Marcus shrugged out of his coat, holding it over the Marchioness’ head in an attempt to spare her the brunt of the storm. When she was on the ground, he quickly shut the carriage door and shouted at his driver to see his sister home with all possible haste. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to follow. 

As he attempted to hurry his new friend up the walk, the front door opened, and he caught sight of the master vampire. 

To say that his demon cringed in fear would be a gross understatement. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike had taken to pacing the foyer in the moments before the Slayer arrived, having displaced his man from his duties, so that when the carriage outside rolled to a stop, he was right there to greet her. 

His eyes took note of the Ducal crest, the dark-haired vampire that stepped down and assisted the Slayer, and he filed that bit of information away to look at later. 

Right now, nothing else mattered but Buffy. 

The little girl lost look she’d been sporting seemed to dissipate as she neared the door. As if sensing his presence, she lifted her head and saw him standing in the doorway. Her feet seemed to have a mind of their own, breaking into a run and away from the protective covering the vampire’s coat had provided. Her tears mingling with the rain as she threw herself at him. 

She was sobbing uncontrollably now. Whatever it was that had been hurting her finally overtaking her as she was swept up in the comforting embrace of her husband. Barely a moment later, he’d picked her up, carrying her close to his chest as he strode off towards his study. 

“Follow me,” Spike barked out to Marcus. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Meekness wasn’t in his character, but the harsh command couldn’t be denied. Marcus closed the front door and set out after the master vampire. He was _not_ looking forward to this confrontation at all. As his booted feet rang out on the floor, he took note of the lack of servants milling about. 

_‘No doubt scared off by the Marquess’ behavior.’_

Still, looking at the two, how he held his wife close as if he would take away her pain; it was easy to see that he cared for the girl. Perhaps even loved her. 

Which made him release an unnecessary breath. 

If the vampire was in love with his wife, then there was a chance he was angry on her behalf, and not at him. That he might actually _listen_ to his story versus attacking him out of hand with a stake. 

Marcus saw the room he was being led towards and noticed that the door was shut. In a few quick strides, he was ahead of the pair and opening it. The vampire barely paid him any notice, his attention solely on the petite woman held in his arms. He watched avidly as the Marquess settled himself in one of the chairs before the fire and held Buffy while she cried. He didn’t say anything, but when the soothing rumbling started emanating from his chest, Marcus felt like an interloper. 

It was a private thing, that. Something usually reserved during an intimate moment between mated vampires. Not knowing what to do, Marcus crossed to the extensive bar along the wall of the study and poured himself a stiff drink. He knocked the shot back quickly and then poured another. This he sipped slowly as he waited for Buffy’s tears to lessen. 

The room was silent save for the light rumbling noise of the master vampire and the tears of the human he held. When they finally lessened, Marcus finished off his second drink then poured one in a fresh glass for Buffy. 

Spike took the outstretched glass, flashing a grateful look at Marcus. 

“Here, love, drink this,” he told her softly. 

Buffy took it automatically, drinking the contents down quickly, in too much shock to protest that she wasn’t thirsty. The fiery path of the liquor burned a trail down her throat, and she coughed a bit. The warmth that seemed to pool in her stomach was a welcome respite from the cold that had encased her heart upon hearing of her former chaperone’s dusting. 

Just the thought brought a fresh wave of tears. Already limp with her crying fit, she didn’t think she could handle being rung dry with another sobfest. She curled into Spike once more as the tears began to fall anew. 

Spike couldn’t take it. Her tears were affecting him worse than any torture Drusilla – or Angelus, for that matter – had ever devised. 

His lips found his mark, nuzzling at the flesh to get her to still – which she did. Almost immediately. 

“Spike,” she mumbled softly, completely forgetting about their audience. Her eyes grew heavy, and eventually she slept, lulled by Spike’s actions. 

Spike held her for a few minutes more before reluctantly rising to his feet to place her on a nearby chaise. He didn’t stop to question his desire to keep her close. She was his; it was his demon’s instinct to see to the care of all that belonged to him. The Slayer was hurting, and it was his job to make it right, to ease the ache that even in sleep, he could still feel. He covered her with a throw then turned and pinned the other vampire with a glacier stare. 

“What the hell happened?” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Marcus barely managed to suppress his demon’s instinct to visibly cower before the leashed rage in the master vampire’s stance. _Just_ barely. As it was, he ended up stumbling over his explanation. 

“It’s her chaperone, Mrs. Rothworth. I happened upon her carriage on my way out of town for the afternoon to see to business. I… she was dust. Set upon by robbers and seemingly dragged from her carriage before the sun was masked by the rain.” 

“And the thieves?” Spike growled. 

“Run off. No doubt having trouble believing what they saw. Although, the money they stole will be burning a hole in their pockets before long. I’m sure come nightfall they’ll crawl out from whatever hole they’ve hidden in to drink themselves into a stupor and share their tale,” Marcus replied. 

“We’ll have to find them before that happens.” 

“I’ve already seen to it. I’ve got my men in every bar along the waterfront.”

“Good.”

The two lapsed into silence for a moment, both looking forward to the evening but for entirely different reasons. One wanted revenge for the killing of one of their own. The other just wanted revenge against those that had dared to hurt his slayer. 

“…had business to attend?” Spike questioned after a time. 

“What? I’m sorry?” Marcus tore his gaze from the sleeping human to see the angry amber of the master vampire staring at him. “I meant no disrespect. I… It’s strange. I… worry about her. That’s never happened to me before.” 

Spike didn’t say anything to the vampire’s confession, but his look lost its harsh edge. Instead, he sat back in his chair behind his desk and regarded the young Marquess, human mask once more in place. 

“Anyway… I was on my way to see the Duke of Abberly. Vamp’s a genius when it comes to making money, much like yourself, and he wanted to show me something.” 

“Did he speak of the subject?” 

“No. Only that it involved a few of the clan Aurelius. Said he saw a pattern and wanted my opinion before bringing the matter to you.” 

_‘Bloody hell.’_

“I’ll send round a note for him to see me directly. I believe I know what it was he wanted to share.” At the younger vamp’s questioning look, Spike added, “I’ll tell you later. I’ve a few things to see to first.”

Spike jotted off a quick note on paper reserved for clan communications. Folding it over, he affixed his seal. His butler, Higgins, seemed to materialize out of thin air to take the missive, nodding at his master’s instructions to see it delivered post haste to the Duke of Abberly. 

The servant left as quietly as he’d entered and passed off the communiqué to Travis, since the butler’s duties required him to stay close at hand. 

Higgins returned not ten minutes later. 

“Excuse me, m’lord. I’ve someone in the kitchens claiming to be the Marquess’ man.” 

“Send him in.” 

“Very good, sir.” 

The man bowed out of the room and was back a moment later with another in tow. Tall and lanky, his unkempt hair hid half his facial features. His clothes smelled like they’d not been changed in over a month. 

“M’lords…” He gave both a stiff bow, both his manner and the cultured tones of his voice revealing that the man was in disguise. “They’ve been found.” 

“Where?” This from Spike. 

“At a place called The Watering Hole,” the servant replied. 

“Who’s there now?” Marcus asked his man. 

“Your driver, Jimmy, and his nephew. They’d just bought the four men a round of drinks when I left to rush here.” 

“Good. That’ll give us plenty of time.” 

Spike was already rising to his feet and making his way towards the door. 

“Should we inform the others?” Marcus asked, two steps behind. 

“No.” 

Marcus grinned. More fun for them. 

“Good work, Lawrence. We’ll take it from here.”

“Very good, m’lord. I’ll await you at home.” 

As the two vampires strode out the front door and into the night, the servant left by the way he’d come.


	42. Chapter 42

Spike and Marcus paused outside The Watering Hole, listening intently as the sound of raucous laughter drifted back to them. The two shared a look, each of the same mind. Soon it would be _them_ laughing as their demons exacted retribution on those that had killed one of their own. 

They were definitely overdressed for the crowd, but it wouldn’t matter. Noblemen – usually lesser sons – often went _slumming_ , as if to prove to themselves and others that they didn’t need their fathers’ titles to see them through. A bit of drunken revelry overlooked by the more territorial commoners. And, if not, a little fisticuffs would usually settle the matter. 

Thus, the two vampires brazenly pushed through the swinging doors, eyes taking a quick sweep of the room before dismissing its occupants out of hand. Noticing a vacant table near the back, Spike took the lead and wended his way through the tables, Marcus following behind. 

They’d barely seated themselves before a barmaid arrived. Her frizzy red hair hid much of her face, the brown non-descript dress hung off her frame like the garment had belonged to another. Spike stared at the girl. She couldn’t have been much older than the Slayer. Was probably younger, in fact. But her eyes seemed wise beyond their years – no doubt witness to atrocities one such as herself should not have been made to see. She flinched under his stare, but found her voice and asked them for their order. 

Both stared up at her in shock as the soft, melodious tone drifted down to them, the tavern’s noises in no way hiding the woman’s cultured speech. 

“Pitcher of ale. The good stuff, not the watered down swill the barkeep serves the others,” Spike told her. 

The girl attempted a half curtsy and hurried away, and Spike found himself staring at her back as she moved between tables, her body barely flinching when she was groped by several of the patrons in her path. 

“What is it?” Marcus asked confused, worried that he’d missed something about the female. 

The elder vamp turned back to his companion. “Nothing…” They drifted back to the girl. “Nothing…” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Yes…” He wasn’t looking at Marcus, his eyes still fixed on the girl. 

Marcus turned in the direction of the other vampire’s gaze. “We could take her with us. She’s kinda on the slim side, so I doubt she’s got family. Probably one of Lulu’s girls.” 

“Hmmm…” 

Spike finally turned away from the girl and leaned back against the booth. His mind debating as to whether or not he’d take the girl. Why he was even contemplating it was anyone’s guess. But he’d long since given up trying to understand the softening nature he’d been exhibiting lately. Yet, if it would take the Slayer’s mind off her sorrow. 

“We’ll take her with us,” Spike decided abruptly. “My wife is going to need some project to occupy her time so she doesn’t dwell on Mrs. Rothworth’s death. Think the li’l maid there should keep her plenty busy.” 

“It’ll be as you say.” 

Marcus stood up and headed towards the bar. After a brief conversation with the owner, he plopped a few coins on the wet surface and gestured to the redheaded girl. The greedy man’s hands closed around the money, nodding vigorously, and Marcus barely managed to suppress a snort. If Lord Chadsworth hadn’t taken the girl out of there, he damn well would have. She reminded him in a way of his sister, though he was far from having sisterly thoughts.

“I just bought her services for the evening. When she brings us our drinks, she’s ours,” he told the master vampire as he slid back in his chair. 

“Good.” Spike’s gaze flicked over the four men and the Marquess’ two servants they were entertaining in the opposite corner. Even from where he sat, he could see that it was going to be a while yet before they’d be drunk enough to spill their secrets. Right now, their faces still bore wide-eyed fear, as if they were still having trouble believing what they’d seen. 

So, wait he would. If it was one thing he’d learned while being stuck in the past, it was patience. 

The barmaid returned a moment later with their drinks, her eyes duller than before, having apparently been told of their buying her services for the evening. 

“What’s your name, girl?” Spike asked as she set their glasses down on the table. 

“Gina, m’lord,” she murmured, eyes downcast. 

“He asked you for your name,” Marcus practically growled. He ignored the smirk from the other vampire, almost smiling in delight when she lifted her gaze to glare at him. _‘Good. Her spirit’s not been broken.’_

“Your name,” Marcus added when she was back to staring at him with her blank look. 

“Angelina. Angelina St. James.” 

Spike rolled his eyes. Figured. 

“And tell me, Angelina St. James… what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” 

“A girl like me?” 

“Yes.” Lightning quick, his hand closed around her wrist and dragged it in front of his face for inspection, flipping it forward and back for a thorough look. 

“Delicate hands, even if they are a little worse for wear right now.” His dark eyes roamed over her body from head to toe, his nose crinkling in distaste. “Classically beautiful features, if you were able to see them for all that hair on your head. Slim body that god awful dress does nothing to enhance…” 

Angelina ripped her hand out of his grasp, and something told her that if she’d not caught him unaware, she never would have been let go. Her eyes narrowed to near slits, a bit of the backbone she’d once possessed returning – before tragedy had struck her family, leaving her an orphan with no means of support, stripping away every last scrap of pride she’d had left.

“You’ve bought my _services_ , m’lord, not my life’s history.” 

Marcus tipped his head back and roared with laughter, causing a few of the patrons closer to their table to look over. 

“Well said, _Gina_.” He sneered the mockery she’d made of her name. “But, I’m not the one that, as you say, ‘bought’ you. He did.” Marcus nodded with his head towards his companion, and he watched as her face paled. 

Spike was having second thoughts of sending the girl to his home, now that he’d seen the other vampire’s interest. But, in the end, he decided against gifting the girl to Marcus. A little time to regain her strength – and her pride – would be in order before he’d let the vampire near her. 

“Marcus, hail the girl a hack and see it delivers her to my home. Mrs. Cremshaw will know what to do with her. Make sure a _bath_ is at the top of her list.” 

At the girl’s gasp, he turned his gaze towards her, his look freezing her in place. 

“I fully expect you to be there upon my return. It’s not your services I’ve bought so much as I’ve taken you out of this hellhole and given you a place to live. As such, I expect you to obey my wife in all things. Is that understood?” 

Angelina stared down at the nobleman as if he were the answer to all her prayers. Tears came unbidden to her eyes. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve this, but she’d not waste the opportunity. Quickly bobbing a curtsy, she left the table and moved towards the exit, grateful to be leaving the place behind for the last time. Though she was rather surprised that not one hand touched her on the way out the door, most of the tavern’s customers not usually so slow to let an opportunity pass. 

She didn’t see the look Marcus gave each and every male in the room. Trailing behind her like an avenging angel just waiting for the one that dared. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“It’s time,” Spike whispered a few hours later. 

Marcus nodded and they both stood. His eyes locked with those of his men, giving the pair a signal. 

As the two vampires exited the tavern, Jimmy gestured to his nephew. A natural-born storyteller, Michael convinced the four thieves to leave the bar with him, promising more drinks and plenty of women to see the night through. Jimmy mentally shook his head as he brought up the rear. 

“Right around this corner, we’ll take a shortcut,” Michael told them. 

Behind him, the four weaved drunkenly, practically stumbling over their boots at the mass quantities of alcohol they’d consumed affecting their coordination. 

“Blimy, can’ see a bloody thing out ‘ere,” one complained. 

“Ya sure this is the right way?” slurred another. 

“Of course. Don’t tell me you guys can’t hold yer liquor,” Michael taunted. 

“’ll ‘ave ya know I was swillin’ ale when you were still in nappies,” a third growled, taking a menacing step towards the youth. 

“Good evening, m’lords,” Jimmy’s voice rang out. 

“Wha—? Who’s there?” the man that had snapped at the boy questioned. He swiveled around and squinted his eyes to see deeper into the alley that led behind the tavern and farther into town. He nearly pissed his pants when the two figures drew near, their yellow eyes pinning him in place. 

The four tried to escape but were cut off by Jimmy and Michael, and Spike and Marcus made quick work of knocking them unconscious. 

“I’ll be but a moment, m’lord,” Jimmy told his master. “I’ve the unmarked carriage around the way.” 

He hurried off down the street, quickly thanking the driver of a fellow nobleman for keeping an eye on his property before settling himself atop the conveyance and cracking his whip to get the horses moving. Circling the block, he drew the team to a halt at the opposite end of the alley. As the vampires walked towards him, Jimmy climbed down and opened the secret compartment in the back of the carriage, allowing the men to be dumped inside. Tiny holes were drilled into the floorboard so that the humans wouldn’t die from lack of oxygen before they’d reached their destination. 

Once all four men were secured, Spike and Marcus climbed inside while Jimmy and Michael returned to their perch on top. A whip sounded and the carriage started moving, Jimmy already knowing their destination. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to the back entrance to Whitt’s. The doors seemed to open before they’d stopped and a small group of minions descended on the carriage and quickly carted the four humans inside and down several flights of stairs to the secret dungeons housed below. 

Marcus stepped down and made to go inside. When he didn’t hear the elder vamp follow, he turned around with a question upon his face. 

“Make sure they’re alive when I return.” 

He didn’t question the master vampire’s command, or why he wasn’t coming inside with him. Now that the four had been captured and were tucked inside the Aurelius stronghold, they’d ceased being a liability. 

“Oh, and if Lords Darderwyne, Hawkingstone, or Sotheby are inside, send them to me at once. Same goes for Alric Townsend.” 

Marcus didn’t let his confusion show, just nodded. 

“Have them bring you with them.” 

Marcus affected a slight bow in deference, then turned to his man and instructed him to see Lord Chadsworth home. As he walked inside, he couldn’t help wondering what, exactly, the master vampire could want with the others. He shoved that thought aside and hurried down the stairs to see to the humans. His demon wanted blood in retribution, but he forced it down. 

Later.

After instructing the minions, Marcus went upstairs, his gaze sweeping over the rooms before settling on the Marquess of Eaglethorpe and the Earl of Hawkingstone playing cards with a few other human nobles. He made eye contact with the two, gesturing with his head his need to speak privately. He watched as they made their excuses, rising to their feet and taking their stack of chips. 

“What is it?” Joseph Maitland, Marquess of Eaglethorpe, whispered as they drew near. 

“Lord Chadsworth needs to speak with Byron right away. Do you know if Derrick, Clayton, or Alric are about?” 

“Not that I’m aware,” Joseph answered. “Come on, it must be important if William wants all of us,” he told Byron. 

“But… he didn’t ask for you,” Marcus managed to stammer out. 

“If it’s what I think it’s about, he’ll want me there. Now, let’s go.” 

The three left the club, all of them climbing into the Earl of Hawkingstone’s carriage to see them to the master vampire’s townhouse. 

Knowing that the news of Mrs. Rothworth’s death had likely reached their ears, Marcus filled them in on the humans’ capture and Lord Chadsworth’s order to hold their execution. 

“William probably wants to see what Buffy’s going to want to do,” Joseph commented in an aside to Byron. 

Marcus didn’t respond, but his mind was racing. The familiarity they seemed to have with the Marchioness confused him. He felt like he was on the outside looking in right now – it not being a place he usually held. As one of the higher-ranking noblemen, he usually was aware of all goings on within the clan, even though he was still just a fledge. 

It rankled. But he tamped down his irritation and forced himself to wait. Whatever it was, he was sure to hear about it in due time, especially given that Lord Chadsworth had wanted him to come along. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Upon entering his study, Spike was surprised to see the Slayer and another vampire sitting with their heads together at the small table. Papers were strewn haphazardly across the surface covering every inch of space. The vampire, who could only be the infamous Duke of Abberly, held a piece of paper in his hand, pointing to some drawing he’d sketched. 

They looked up as the study door closed behind him, Buffy jumping to her feet and rushing to his side. His arms closed around her as she threw herself against his chest. 

“There you are! When I woke you were gone and I wasn’t sure…” She lifted her head and Spike could see traces of the pain she tried so hard to mask. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and changed the subject. 

“Did Angelina find her way here all right?” 

His question did the trick, her heartache faded in place of her rage on the girl’s behalf. 

“I should say so! Poor girl, forced to sell herself to provide a roof over her head. I’ve settled her in the guest room at the end of the hall.” 

“The guest wing. Um, pet? You do realize…” 

Buffy quirked her brow, daring him to finish that thought. 

“Fine… do whatever you like. It’s not like I have any say so in the matter anyway,” he grumbled. He released the Slayer and stepped back. “Going to introduce me to our guest, love?” 

“Oh, yes…” She blushed a becoming shade of red at her thoughtlessness. “Sorry about that.” 

The two walked over to the table where the Duke stood waiting for an introduction. 

“William, may I introduce, His Grace, the Duke of Abberly. Your Grace, my husband William, Marquess of Chadsworth.” The two men exchanged formal greetings as Buffy continued, “His Grace was telling me about these interesting _patterns_ he’s noticed among a few members of the clan.” 

“So I hear,” Spike murmured. At the Duke’s inquiring look, he elaborated. “The Marquess of Brummidge stopped round earlier. Apparently, he was on his way to see you when he happened upon Mrs. Rothworth’s carriage. I’ve actually just returned from securing the perpetrators at Whitt’s. They’ll be dealt with on the morrow.” 

Buffy wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. True, they’d robbed her former chaperone and forced her into the sunlight, thereby killing her instantly. But could she just stand by while Spike and the others exacted revenge? It wasn’t a question she was prepared to answer just yet, because right now, she’d answer with an unequivocal yes. 

Kill them all and to hell with right and wrong. 

And then what would that make her? 

The door opened a moment later and Higgins, their butler, stepped inside to announce the Marchioness of Haversham’s arrival. Buffy stood before the servant finished his proclamation, and after a quick glance at Spike, in which he gave a short nod, she excused herself and darted out of the room as fast as decorously possible. 

In the front sitting room, the door had barely closed behind her and Buffy was hurling herself into her friend’s arms, sobbing pitifully on her shoulder. 

“Buffy! Oh, honey, I’m sorry I couldn’t get here before now,” Renee soothed as she guided them to one of the two decorative couches. Buffy lifted her head from her shoulder and Renee took the opportunity to smooth the girl’s hair out of her face. “Is there any news?” 

“S-Spike… he found them. Says he’s got them locked up at Whitt’s.” 

“Good.” Renee’s voice had turned hard, so unlike her usual demeanor. Mrs. Rothworth had been a good friend, had helped her through the dark period in her life after Jared was gone. 

“I… I don’t know if I can let this happen. Let them just be killed…” 

Renee stood, the natural amber of her eyes darkening slightly as her demonic features burst forth; she whirled around to stare at her friend. 

“Would you see them let go? Unpunished for their crime against one of us?” 

“I—” 

“You live in our world now, Buffy. Those men will pay. And all of us, Spike included, will gain satisfaction in seeing them dead.” Her sudden burst of anger gone, the ridges above her brow faded, her eyes once more returning to their softer yellow. “The Slayer doesn’t exist here. She’s not needed. We know how to maintain the balance.” 

“I know, it’s just—” 

“We don’t kill indiscriminately, Buffy. You know that.” 

Buffy nodded. “It just goes against everything I’ve believed in. Everything I’ve been trained—” 

“ _Trained_ being the key word here. What if it had been me? Or Spike?” She smiled when she saw her friend’s eyes darken perceptively. She resumed her seat by her friend’s side, taking the girl’s hands in her own. “You see? That’s the way we feel. How all of us feel at losing one of our own.” 

“But it’s wrong.” 

“Only from where you’re standing.”


	43. Chapter 43

Buffy was spared commenting when a knock at the front door sounded and the voices of Lord Hawkingstone and Lord Brummidge – the vampire that had seen her home earlier – reached her ears. If Byron was here, it could only mean that Spike was contemplating expanding their circle. She hurried to the door and opened it in time to see the two vampires, as well as Lord Eaglethorpe, being led past by Higgins, the butler.

“Something’s happening,” she told Renee, ducking back inside the room. “Come on.”

The two women hurried down the hall that led towards Spike’s study. Not bothering to knock, Buffy let herself in. Spike was standing behind his desk; the Duke of Abberly and the Marquess of Brummidge were seated in the two chairs in front of him, leaving the Marquess of Eaglethorpe and the Earl of Hawkingstone standing in strategic places about the room. Buffy went immediately to her husband’s side – they’d have to go through her to get to him – and had Renee take up position in front of the door, thus blocking the exit. The seated vampires looked askance at her and Renee’s presence, but didn’t dare object to their being there. If the master vampire had wanted them gone, they wouldn’t have been in the room.

Marcus watched as Lord Chadsworth seemed to carry on a silent conversation with the other vampires standing about the room, and only just realized that both he and the Duke had been effectively boxed in. His demon tensed in preparation of attack, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Beside him, the Duke laid a reassuring hand on the younger vamp’s forearm.

“Patterns,” he murmured quietly. Then, he settled back to wait.

It wasn’t long either, Spike having received the nod of approval from the three vampires stationed in a circle around the two. Even with their okay, he still felt the Slayer stiffen beside him as he began to speak. Relaying the same story he’d once told the other vampires. Halfway through his tale, he noticed the Duke nodding as if his suspicions had been confirmed. When he got to the part about time travel and that his wife was a Slayer, he took in their shocked expressions, his coiled body relaxing slightly when neither made a move to attack.

“Who else knows?” Marcus asked abruptly.

“The Marquess and Marchioness of Darderwyne and the Viscount Sotheby,” Adam Kingston, the Duke of Abberly, replied, beating Spike to his answer. At his surprised look, the duke added, “Patterns. They’re good, but I’m better.”

“Then maybe you should see to the monetary arrangements,” Spike commented. “Oh, and you forgot Alric Townsend.”

“Ah, yes, the youngest son of the Viscount Waverly,” Adam commented. “He’d be a little harder to deduce given his untitled status. But the more that I think on it now, I do see how he could be a part of this.”

“So, you’ll help us?” Buffy interjected.

“Of course,” Marcus replied immediately.

“Even knowing what’s going to happen? That this… whatever it is… isn’t going to end well?”

“Buffy, you should know by now… our clan… it sticks together,” Marcus told her.

Buffy risked a glance at Renee and noticed the smug look on her features. Surprisingly, it was Spike that contradicted the vamp’s words.

“That may be true in this case. But, I believe that whatever happens to change the future, as you guys know it, is caused by an internal power struggle.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” he added upon seeing several of the vampires’ aghast looks. “Look. It’s late, and the sun’ll be up in about an hour. Adam, I’m putting you in charge of our monetary assets. Coordinate with the others. Byron, Joseph… you’ll let the others know?”

The two vampires nodded.

“Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow evening at Whitt’s.”

Buffy stiffened at Spike’s words, but didn’t comment. The death of the humans was a foregone conclusion and something she was going to have to force herself to accept – although, she didn’t think she was up to witnessing the event just yet.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy lay still until she was sure that Spike wouldn’t wake before easing out of his arms and climbing out of bed. Grabbing her robe from where it had been carelessly thrown earlier, she pulled it on and walked to the connecting doors leading to her room. After a last glance at her husband, she slipped through the door, squinting momentarily as her eyes tried to adjust to the sunlight pouring into her room.

She didn’t bother with calling her maid, not wanting to wake the girl just because she’d been unable to sleep. Instead, Buffy rummaged through her wardrobe until she found a dress that she could fasten herself and that didn’t require the boa-constricting corset she normally wore. A few quick brushes through her hair afterwards, and she let herself out of her room.

The hallway upstairs was deserted, but she could hear activity below – most likely the downstairs maids cleaning and dusting. Not wanting to be seen, she took the seldom-used servant’s stairs that led to the kitchens.

Mrs. Wadsworth was seated at a table as she prepared the day’s meals and gave her a wave as Buffy let herself out into the gardens. The bright sky was in direct contrast to her mood; it should have been raining, or at the very least, overcast.

She was tired and cranky, not to mention confused, and she knew it. Knew exactly what it was that was causing her mood.

And why she couldn’t sleep.

Buffy just didn’t know what was expected of her. And it was those tumultuous thoughts that had kept her awake, long after Spike had succumbed to slumber. It was the reason she was outside, hoping the soothing atmosphere of the gardens would make things more clear.

An hour later, and she was still no closer to settling things in her mind, and reluctantly let herself back inside.

Seeing the look on her mistress’ face, the cook dismissed the others in the room, sending them on false errands so that they could have some privacy.

“I need to go to Whitt’s,” Buffy announced abruptly. “Right now.”

Mrs. Wadsworth nodded, not about to refuse the request given the look on her mistress’ face. “I’ll have Higgins see to it immediately. Would you like something to eat while you wait?”

“No… I… maybe some tea?”

“I’ll heat up the water.”

Twenty minutes later, Buffy was tucked inside an unmarked carriage, Spike’s own valet at the reins. She wasn’t quite sure what had possessed her to go to the Aurelian stronghold. Or if she could even gain entry.

Then it was too late for self-doubts, or what-ifs, or any of the other things that made her want to turn tail and run instead of dealing with the situation, because the carriage pulled to a halt outside the club. A moment later, her door opened and Buffy leaned her head out to see that they’d stopped before a second, more private, entrance.

She allowed herself to be helped down from the coach, and they’d no sooner reached the door than it opened. The person manning it was obviously human, since he stepped into the sunlight to challenge their entry.

“Let us pass,” Travis told the man. “This is Lady Chadsworth.”

“But…”

“It’s alright,” Buffy interjected. “It was foolish on my part to try and come here.”

“Nonsense,” he told her. “They wouldn’t dare refuse you entrance.” He pinned the man with a look. “Or would you like to explain to the Marquess of Chadsworth why you turned his wife away.”

The doorman backed out of the way, and Buffy stepped inside; her slayer senses tingled at feeling the presence of several vampires roaming throughout the building.

“Would you like me to stay, m’lady?” Travis asked.

“No… return for me in an hour’s time.”

“As you wish.”

The door closed behind her and she turned to the man that had let her in.

“Who oversees the dungeons?”

“D-Dungeons?” he asked, confused.

“Yes, dungeons. Cages. Whatever you call them. Where are the humans that were brought here earlier?”

“I-I-I don’t know—”

“Well, find me someone that does. And be quick about it. I don’t have a lot of time,” she snapped.

The man rushed off, eager to find one of the vampires that helped oversee the gentlemen’s club, so that he could get back to his post and wash his hands of the human female that just happened to be married to an Aurelius master vampire. Far better for someone else to be responsible for the girl. A few minutes later, he found Mr. Laitner, one of the minions that worked in the club.

“Uh… excuse me, Mr. Laitner. Umm…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Lady Chadsworth is here and wanting to see the dungeons?”

“Here? As in inside?”

“Yes, sir. Her man dropped her off at the back entrance.”

“She’s alone?” His voice had risen to an unnaturally high pitch.

“Yes, sir. You can see my dilemma. Came for you straight away, I did.” 

The two wended their way through the tables of the nearly deserted building. It still being well before noon, the establishment was currently closed. 

“Lady Chadsworth! I must say it’s quite an honor, if somewhat highly irregular to see you grace our humble establishment,” Mr. Laitner greeted the lady. “That’ll be all, Jacob. You can return to your duties,” he told the other man. 

“Yes, sir, Mr. Laitner. Good day, m’lady.” He affected an awkward bow and was off in a hurry, grateful to have passed the responsibility of the woman onto someone else. 

“What can I do for you, Lady Chadsworth?” the vampire asked once the two of them were alone. 

“I want you to take me to the dungeons…” 

“I’m not sure I understand—” 

“Look,” she interrupted. “I don’t have time to mince words with you. I want to see the bastards that dusted my chaperone… NOW!” 

The minion retreated a few steps as she punctuated her words by invading his personal space, jabbing a finger in his direction. 

“I don’t think—” 

“I don’t care what you think. I want to see them.” 

Buffy watched as he seemed to debate with himself before he finally turned and motioned her to follow him down the hallway. “Follow me.” 

At the end of the hallway, he opened a door and entered what appeared to Buffy to be some type of wine cellar. She watched as he stopped before one of the racks and pulled it away from the wall to reveal a hidden passage. Moments later, they were descending the staircase that eventually opened up into a wide circular area that had cages and various sorts of other torture devices scattered about the room. 

Her arrival got the immediate attention of the four humans – the only occupants besides the lone guard that sat at a table in a darkened corner. As the vampire that led her below went to speak with the other, Buffy neared the cell that held the humans. 

She didn’t stop until she’d reached the bars separating them. 

Buffy wasn’t sure what to expect when she finally got a good look at them. A thought ran through her mind that they looked like criminals. It wasn’t so much their clothes, although they were pretty haggard as well. No, it was their eyes. How they leered at her. And she knew that if it weren’t for the bars separating them, she’d have cause to worry about her safety. 

“Aren’t you a tasty morsel!” one of them, probably the ringleader, quipped as he drew near. “A lady come t’ get ‘er kicks with a real man? Well, come on then. Open up an’ give us a taste.” 

His words seemed to incite the others and the foursome talked over each other as they delighted in telling her in vivid, graphic detail everything they’d do to her once they had her in hand. 

“Mighty big words for someone who’s about to die,” Buffy commented casually. 

“Bitch,” one of them ground out. “Jus’ wait’ll I get free. Willy’ll make you pay for sassin’ me.” 

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and gifted them all with a bored expression. 

“Oh, I really don’t think so.” 

An arm shot out between the bars as she sneered at the one that had spoken, and Buffy gasped at the hand that closed around her throat. She felt the vampires race to her side, but she didn’t pay either of them any mind. Her concentration was completely on the leader – the one with his hand trying to strangle the breath right out of her. One hand grasped his wrist as the other gripped the bar in front of her to keep him from bringing her any closer. 

She had to hand it to him; he was strong. 

But she was mad, and his puny efforts to subdue her were no match against the adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

“Bet this is what you did to my chaperone, wasn’t it?” she gasped out as her fingers constricted about his wrist. 

She watched his eyes flared with recognition and it just increased her rage. She fed on it. Allowed it to consume her until her whole plane of existence narrowed to just him and her. Her grip tightened even more and she smiled when she saw him cringe in pain. Her smile growing wider still as she watched him try to break her hold on him with his other hand. 

When he couldn’t, his eyes widened in dawning horror. 

“You’re one of them! A monster!” he gasped, fingers opening reflexively as he tried to get away from her. 

Buffy released her hold on his arm and watched as he scrambled to the back wall in an attempt to get as far away from her as possible. Buffy laughed, although it came out more like a hoarse cough. 

“Monster? _Monster_?! You rape and pillage and steal. Not to mention kill an unarmed woman for no more than a few pounds… and you call _me_ the monster? I’m not… _we’re_ not the monsters here. She was my friend, damn you! And you killed her!” 

She was crying now, her voice all but gone. 

“You all deserve everything that’s coming to you,” she whispered. 

Then she turned and walked away. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Mr. Laitner was silent while he led Lady Chadsworth upstairs, unsure exactly what he could do to get her to stop crying; he had no experience, whatsoever, dealing with weeping females. 

“Is there something I could get you, m’lady?” he asked once he’d shown her to a couch on the main level. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and leaned down to offer it to her, smiling when she took it without question. 

“Home,” Buffy managed to croak out. 

“Jacob!” the minion bellowed out as he stood. 

Moments later, the human appeared. 

“Yes, Mr. Laitner?” 

“Lady Chadsworth would like to go home now.” 

“Yes, sir. But… well, her coach hasn’t returned yet.” 

“Then find her another one!” 

“Yes, sir! Of course…” 

Jacob darted out the back door, having no idea where to go to see about obtaining another hack. Luck was with him, however, as he’d no sooner turned the corner and seen the driver that had dropped the lady off sitting atop the carriage she’d arrived in. 

“Lady Chadsworth is ready to go home now,” Jacob called out and turned to run back inside the club to let the vampire know. 

Travis nodded and guided the carriage around the corner, stopping it before the door. He quickly hopped down from his perch to see his mistress inside. His eyes widened in shock as he got a good look at her. She’d obviously been crying, was still crying, in fact. And the bruises around her neck… 

“What the bloody hell happened?!” Decorum was forgotten in the face of this outrage. 

Buffy shook her head at Travis. She just wanted to go home and didn’t feel up to listening to the vampire rehash what had occurred.


	44. Chapter 44

“She still won’t come in?” Mrs. Wadsworth asked. 

The cook lifted the curtains covering the window overlooking the back lawns. She shook her head in the negative replying, “Nope. Still sittin’ smack dab in the middle of the gardens allowin’ the sunlight to pour down on her head. Poor li’l lamb.” She sighed, allowing the curtain to shield the window once more. 

“Don’t know why she won’t come inside,” the housekeeper commented. “The master would make her feel better.” 

The Marquess’ valet had relayed the horrid condition of their mistress, the dark bruises that covered her neck, the tears she’d been unable to stem. Why she sat out where she knew her husband couldn’t reach her was anyone’s guess. 

“How’s he taking it?” Mrs. Cremshaw inquired of the housekeeper. 

A crash sounding from another part of the house seemed to answer her question, and the two women cringed at the cursing easily heard from the study. A moment later, the door opened to the kitchen and Higgins, the butler, appeared. His normally stoic face absent in the face of their master’s ire. 

“ _Please_ tell me she’s given up this foolishness and has come inside?” the man begged. 

Both women showed him sympathetic expressions. Under normal circumstances, they’d have taken much delight in teasing the butler for his less than dignified demeanor. But these weren’t normal times, and his position as butler put him at the forefront of the master vampire’s rage. 

“Well, would one of you go out there and bring her inside?” he implored when they replied in the negative. 

“He’d have our hides if one of us dared touch her,” Mrs. Wadsworth pointed out. 

“He’s gonna have _my_ hide if she doesn’t come inside soon,” Higgins muttered. He cursed the fates that made today, of all days, an unusually bright and sunny day in London . Where was the fog and dreary rain when one needed it? 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike barely noticed the shambles that was his study, his entire focus centered on the girl that refused to come in out of the sun. 

He’d woken the instant he felt her rage through his claim, and in that moment he’d known where she’d gone. Then her pain enveloped him, though it had been a distant second to the anger still churning through her system. But, he’d felt it. Knew it had to be one of the humans causing it, thus guaranteeing the death of whoever it might be by Spike’s own hands. No one laid a finger on what was his. No one! Hurriedly throwing on clothes with the intention of racing to Whitt’s, he’d growled his frustration when he was brought up short by the glaring rays of the early morning sun. 

It hadn’t helped his mood one bit, and he’d retreated to the study to plot out all the things he was going to do to the human that had dared to touch the Slayer while he waited for her return. So intent on his task, her heartache and despair barely registered with him. Finally, he felt her approach and waited for the moment his study doors would burst open and she’d fling herself at him, desperate to be comforted – he’d actually looked forward to it, liking how the gesture made him feel. 

Only, the doors hadn’t opened. 

When he’d found out she’d plopped herself down smack dab in the middle of the garden, using the sun as an invisible shield to keep him away from her, he’d gone ballistic. And he hadn’t been nice about it, tugging at the tethers of his claim to bring her to his side until he knew her skin had to be on fire. But still she’d resisted, and that’s when Spike had started trashing things. 

Nothing had been free from the brunt of his anger. 

Now, in the aftermath of the destruction, he waited. The grandfather clock – that had miraculously evaded annihilation – ticked off the minutes until sunset in the otherwise silent room. His staff wisely left him alone as he stewed in his temper… 

…and waited. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy felt his approach and didn’t bother to run away. She’d known the moment the sun dipped beyond the horizon he’d be out the door. That he’d come the second the gardens had been shaded in shadows indicated how mad he was. 

But, that was alright. 

Right now she needed his anger. Anything to take her mind off the uncertainty she was feeling. 

“Wanna explain to me what you’re doing out here, Lady Chadsworth?” 

Oh yeah, he was pissed. That voice was _too_ calm for him to be anything but. The formal name was a dead giveaway too. She imagined if she were to raise her head and look at him, she’d see a clenched jaw where he struggled not to yell, his amber gaze boring into hers, the ridges of his brow prominent, too far gone to bother restraining his demon. 

“Better answer me, Slayer, or I’ll turn you over my knee right here, and to hell with who may be watching,” Spike growled, anger mounting at her continued silence. 

Head still bent, she opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a faint squeak; her throat was swollen from where the human had tried to choke her to death and the anxiety that had built as she’d ensured the humans’ death with her actions made it impossible to get anything past her lips. 

Buffy lifted her head to look at her husband, her eyes begging him to understand her conflicted emotions. She’d no idea how bad the bruising on her neck was, but seeing the way Spike’s eyes almost glowed with seething rage, it had to be bad. 

For the first time in his unlife, Spike was struck speechless. The Slayer’s neck was a mangled mess of black, blue, and purple bruises from where someone had wrapped their meaty fist around her and squeezed. That she still lived and breathed was proof that being the Slayer endowed her with certain strength, as well as healing abilities. 

He’d known she’d been in pain, but her anger at the time had eclipsed what she’d obviously gone through. Spike lifted his hand to finger the marks, assure himself as to their voracity. Though his touch was gentle, he still saw her flinch and almost left her standing there as his demon raged within to right the insult done him. 

If she’d not looked on the verge of collapsing he would have. 

Grumbling under his breath, he swept her up into his arms and left the garden. The door to the kitchens seemed to open automatically as his staff fell over themselves to aid master and mistress. Their shocked gasps on finally getting a look at her forced him to once again stifle the urge to exact his revenge right then. Barking out orders, he hurried through the room and into the hallway, taking the stairs two and three at a time to reach the master bedroom. 

The door stood open and the sounds of water being poured into a tub drifted out to him as he walked down the hallway. Before he reached the door, several male servants exited his room carrying empty buckets. 

“I took the liberty of having m’lady’s bath prepared here. Heather is waiting in her room to see to her needs, I’ve only to call her,” Travis told the Marquess as he stepped inside the room. 

“No.” 

“As you wish, m’lord,” he replied, adding, “I’ve toiletries and towels laid out.” 

He’d seen the bruises on his mistress’ neck as well as her tear-streaked face and knew she’d want a bath once she came home. He’d paced the master bedchamber after seeing to the horses and carriage, his travels often taking him by the window to watch as the Marchioness sat amongst the greenery, shoulders hunched over while she cried. She’d confused him, closeting herself off from the vampire and sitting in the sunlight, not coming inside to seek the comforting touch of her husband. 

He’d sprung into action the moment the vampire had raced outside to put an end to her foolishness, taking it upon himself to have a bath drawn here in the master suite rather than the Marchioness’ room. Travis had figured on his master’s possessiveness and his terse negative had confirmed it; he’d not be letting anyone else touch her just yet. Not even her maid. 

“M’lord?” 

“What is it, Travis?” he barked out, impatient to get the Slayer out of her clothes and into the bath. 

“I’ve liniment...for the swelling.” He gestured with his hand towards his own neck. “It’s made for the horses, but I’m guessin’ it should do the trick. Smells a bit, but…” 

Spike nodded, effectively dismissing the man. The valet took the hint and moved off. 

“Travis?” Spike called out as his man reached the door. 

“Yes, m’lord?”

“Thanks.” 

The valet smiled and slipped silently from the room. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

After his man left, Spike set the Slayer down on her feet and practically shredded the dingy gown and undergarments before placing her in the tub. A minute later, he eased in behind her, pulling her back against him. She turned on her side, wrapping her arms around his back as she laid her head against his bare chest. 

“Wanna tell me why you ventured a trip to Whitt’s… _alone_?” 

Though his tone was soft, there was no mistaking the underlying steel. 

“I was going to let them go… well… at least I _thought_ that’s what I was going there for,” Buffy told him honestly, her voice low, barely a whisper, as her throat muscles protested their use. “I’m not sure.” 

She felt Spike stiffen beneath her, but he wasn’t growling, so she took that as a sign to continue. 

“I just… I’m the _Slayer_ , Spike. I can’t help that. So… I was going to go down there. Give them a chance. I knew you’d be able to find them easily enough, but at least I’d done something, ya know?” 

“What stopped you? I’m assuming they’re still locked up in the dungeon?” 

“They did. It was like… I dunno. Spike, they were _evil_. I could _feel_ it! And what they said…” She shivered in memory, and took comfort in the arms that tightened about her. “I was so angry. I taunted them. I walked right up to where they were leaning against the bars and mocked them for being locked inside a cage, awaiting death.” 

“Nothing wrong with getting back a little of your own.” 

Buffy lifted her head and looked Spike in the eyes. “You don’t understand. I did it on purpose. I wanted to anger them… piss them off enough to strike. And they didn’t disappoint. If I’d not been the Slayer…” 

There was no stopping the growl this time. 

“But, even with his hand squeezing my neck, I still laughed in his face. He had the nerve to call _me_ a monster when I practically broke his wrist. _Me_! A monster!” She barked out a laugh, the sound pitiful even to her own ears. Buffy looked away and lay back against Spike, her cheek once more resting upon his chest. 

“He was right though,” she confessed. “I am a monster.” 

“Oh, pet. You’re not a monster.” 

“Yes, I am… I’m gonna let them die, Spike. And a part of me… a part of me actually wants them to. To pay for what they did to Mrs. Rothworth.” 

“Still doesn’t make you a monster,” he murmured into her hair. 

“No? Then what does it make me?” 

“Human, pet. It makes you human.” 

Neither said another word as Spike went through the motions of getting the Slayer cleaned up and into bed. The adrenaline that had been rushing through her system in the wake of her confrontation with the humans had dissipated, and the lack of sleep had finally caught up with her. She smothered a yawn as he settled her in bed, pulling the covers up over her shoulders. Spike brushed the hair out of her face and leaned down to give her a kiss. 

“Ever stop to think that this is what the Powers wanted, love?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m just sayin’… they’ve got you claimed by a vampire. Hell, practically all your friends are vamps. And there’s nothing they wouldn’t do for you… and I don’t think it’s all because of me either.” 

“So… what?” 

“Maybe it’s part of this destiny thing—” 

“That I’m what, supposed to live with vampires?” 

“You already do that, pet.” 

“You know what I mean,” Buffy grumbled. 

“Well, truth be told… bloody hell! Why didn’t I _see_ it?” 

Spike jumped off the bed and started pacing. 

“See what?” Buffy asked, sitting up.

“We’ve managed to form our own sect within the Aurelius clan,” he told her, drawing to a halt. “All that’s lackin’ is the blood.” 

“Blood? _What_ blood?” 

“I’ll explain later.” Spike walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Get some rest. I’ll be back in a few hours.” 

Buffy was set to argue with him. She really was. But another wave of exhaustion washed over her, and she laid her head back upon the pillows. 

Spike resettled the covers once more, brushed a kiss over her temple and was gone.


	45. Chapter 45

Spike didn’t bother with the front entrance of Whitt’s, not interested in being waylaid by anyone he might happen across once inside the gentlemen’s club. The discreet back entrance was good enough for now – he wasn’t planning on being there long. Doors seemed to open automatically for him as he headed downstairs towards the dungeon. There wasn’t a vamp in the building that didn’t know what had been done to his claimant by one of the humans and they all knew that the master vampire would make right the crime perpetuated against one of his own with all possible haste. 

The secondary bet book – the one only the vampires used – was loaded with entries on the length of torture the Marquess would enact, as well as the type of said torture. Though, truthfully, not one of them cared if they won; they just wanted to be witness to the event. 

The Slayer’s scent seemed to overwhelm the room as Spike descended the steps, drowning out even the smell of urine and bile coming from the prisoners. He was pleased to see that the men were cowering in fear in a far corner of the cell. The details of their impending death no doubt extolled in great detail by the minion set to watch over them. 

“Have the preparations been seen to?” Spike asked without preamble. The four men’s punishment had been going to be swift, but because of the latest act of violence against his wife, a much more satisfactory means of justice was now being planned.

“Yes, Lord Chadsworth.” 

“Who’s hosting?” 

“Hawk… er, the Earl of Hawkingstone, m’lord. His estate has the best landscaping to serve our purpose and he’s already left to see to the details.” 

Spike grunted, shifting his attention to the humans as he neared the cell. Unlike with Buffy, the closer he got, the farther they tried to shrink into the back wall. As a human, his presence commanded respect. But with ridged brow and menacing yellow eyes, like he was now… 

“Open it,” Spike commanded. 

The minion was at his side in an instant, metal keys jingling in his haste to open the door. Before any of the humans had time to react, Spike was through the door and had the one that smelled the most like Buffy pinned against the wall, his body held suspended three feet above the ground. 

He ignored the man’s frantic attempts to free himself from his grasp, instead gazing at him dispassionately. The others, he noted, had scrambled as far away as possible from him, unwilling to draw his attention to them. 

“So, this is what it felt like,” Spike spoke conversationally. “Can’t say that this appeals. I’m more of a fist and fangs kinda bloke. But, you bein’ human an’ all…” 

The man’s face started to change shades as his air supply was slowly choked off. His struggles lessened until his arms fell limply at his sides. 

“Still… like begets like.” Spike leaned in, his face mere inches from that of his victim. “You made a mistake thinking you could touch what was mine,” he growled menacingly. His grip tightened, and a moment later the sound of bone crunching could be heard when he inadvertently crushed the man’s windpipe. 

Disgusted with himself and the piece of offal he held pinned against the wall, Spike tossed the soon-to-be corpse aside, stubbornly refusing to take even one drop of the man’s blood. He turned towards the remaining three, lip curling in disgust as he caught whiff of their loss of bodily function, their repeated mutterings of, “Oh God! Oh God!” He rolled his eyes and stormed from the cell. Their attempts at suddenly seeking favor with their Creator were laughable.

As if He would deem to save them now.

Not bloody likely. 

“Do something with that,” Spike ordered as he marched up the stairs and out of the dungeon. 

“Yes, m’lord,” the minion replied, once more securing the cell door. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike didn’t return home right away like he’d planned. Instead, he took a seat at one of the tables in a darkened corner of the club. A waiter appeared almost instantly with glass and bottle, placing them on the table before hurrying away. If nothing else, the service was a damn sight better than Willie’s rundown bar back home in Sunnydale; the staff seemed to know his wishes before he ever expressed them aloud. 

He downed several shots in quick succession before he dared think about what had transpired below. The kill had been extremely dissatisfying to his demon; his blinding rage allowing the man’s death to come entirely too quickly. He’d only gone there with the intention of singling out his victim for the festivities later, something to bide his time while his wife slept and healed. But as the scent of Buffy washed over him, the scent of her on the human, as well as the man’s size in comparison to the Slayer, images of her bruised flesh had flashed before his eyes as he neared the cell, and Spike had had the man dangling from his grasp before he thought to question his actions. Minutes later, the human had been dying. 

Justice had been swift, and surprisingly merciful. 

Completely out of character for him. 

Staring down at the bottom of his empty snifter, he didn’t even look up at the other’s approach. 

“Get your own glass, and bring another bottle while you’re at it,” Spike grumbled, pouring another drink. 

Doyle snorted and shook his head, then turned away, gaining a servant’s eye and gesturing for another bottle and a second glass. Satisfied his request was being seen to, he pulled out a chair and sat down. 

“Guess you’re probably wondering what I’m doing here, huh?” 

Spike raised his head and pinned the man with a look. “No doubt to tell me about the latest development from the ‘Powers That Fuck With Me.’” 

Doyle barked out a laugh, but at the less-than-pleased look sent his way by the vampire, he bit his bottom lip and tried to appear contrite. 

“Oh, go ahead. Laugh it up. You know you want to,” Spike snarked. 

“What?” Doyle was confused. Spike seemed unlike himself at the moment. 

“It’s not like you don’t know. Hell, I may as well hand over m’ bollocks while I’m at it,” he grumbled after tossing back his shot and pouring another. 

“Ok. Now I’m lost…” He closed his mouth as the waiter appeared with his glass and another bottle, silently watching the vampire’s forlorn expression. When the man walked away, Doyle snagged the half-empty bottle and poured himself a stiff drink, demanding, “You mind telling me what the hell is going on?” 

“I crushed his bloody windpipe,” Spike mumbled. 

“Okay.” Doyle drew the word out, not understanding the comment that seemed to come out of left field. 

“You don’t understand. That’s _all_ I did. No fists. No fangs….” Spike sighed dramatically. “Hell, not even a taste…” 

“Still lost here—” 

“The Slayer, man! Dammit, Doyle, bloody pay attention! I killed the man that hurt my Slayer. Only… only I crushed his bloody windpipe… like he was tryin’ to do to her.” 

“What? And you’re upset because you didn’t _bite_ him?” 

Spike narrowed his eyes and glared at the half-breed. 

“It wasn’t enough,” he growled. “He shoulda been—” 

“Yes, yes… torn to shreds while you feasted on his blood like fine wine, only after a long and adventurous hunt in which you gloried in his fear,” Doyle interrupted sarcastically. “Pardon me if I’m not sympathetic.” 

“Watch it, mate.” 

Doyle leaned back in his seat, nonplussed. 

“Gah! I can’t believe I’m— Have you told the Slayer you love her yet?” 

The change in topic took the vampire by surprise. 

“What has _that_ got to do with anything?” 

“Revenge.” 

“T’wern’t revenge. It was retribution.” 

“Uh huh. Tell me you didn’t take one look at him… hell, with you, you probably just had to smell him. Anyway... don’t tell me you didn’t take _one_ look at him and in the back of your mind decided he was going to die, in the exact same fashion the Slayer almost did. Those bruises on her neck didn’t prompt any rash behavior on your part…” 

_“Like begets like.”_

Stony silence was his only answer. 

“…only human nature,” Doyle concluded. 

“You’re forgetting one small point… I’m. Not. Human.” 

“No, but you’re mated to one.” 

“Claimed! I’ve _claimed_ one. Big difference.” 

Doyle’s look said, “Yeah, alright,” but he didn’t belabor the point with the vampire. 

“As much as I find this conversation amusing, that’s not why I’m here,” Doyle told Spike. 

“Figured as much.” He pushed the matter of the human’s death aside for now, leaning back in his chair and regarded the Power’s emissary. “Mind tellin’ a fellow why I’ve somehow become the leader of a new and secret sect within the Aurelius clan? You _do_ realize what would happen if word of this got out, don’t you?” 

“Darla and Angelus were fools to see you as nothing more than a glorified babysitter for your sire,” Doyle murmured, impressed. 

~*~*~*~*~

The small group descended on Sunnydale with a stealth they’d acquired over the centuries. Their first destination was the place they’d be calling home for the duration of their stay – a warehouse bought years before by a dummy corporation that was a byproduct of another dummy corporation. Just another in the long list of bogus companies Adam had created throughout the years. 

The place was modeled to their exact specifications; its security system impenetrable. On the outside, the building appeared normal enough, the Mayor calling the influx of business brought about by the company a boon to the city. 

Marcus unlocked the door, ushering the others inside. Last to arrive was Alric; he’d brought up the rear after assuring they’d not been followed. 

“Any problems?” Marcus asked as he pulled the door closed and set the first of several alarms; the language he used was untranslatable to anyone that might have happened to overhear.

“No. Just a bunch of minions rising—” Alric replied in kind.

“You didn’t confront them, did you?” 

“And blow my cover? What do I look like? Some wet-behind-the-ears fledge?” Alric grumbled. 

“Nos es quam ventus. Occaeco, salvifico hebes vestigium sanus excido ab suus obduco.” 

“Je sais,” Alric grumbled. “And lay off the Latin, will ya? I get the whole, ‘We are the wind’ crap. Why do you think _I’m_ the one covering everyone’s ass?” 

Marcus clapped the disgruntled vampire on the back, smiling at his petulant look. 

“Come on; let’s catch up with the others. We need to keep a close watch on the town and see how much the watcher and the others know.” 

The two walked down a flight of stairs and into a secure room with no trace of windows. At the back wall, Marcus punched a seemingly invisible button. A door clicked open revealing another flight of stairs. Once they reached the bottom, more codes were entered and a final steel door slid open allowing them entry into the main room. 

Surveillance cameras covered one entire wall, along with a multitude of computers and accessories to see to their security. A table stood in the middle of the room, where even now, a few had already sat down, having already stored their personal effects. 

Marcus and Alric hurriedly dispensed with their bags and returned to the table. There was much to be discussed before the group split up and became more familiar with Sunnydale.

~*~*~*~*~

Derrick and Esme stood hidden among the stacks on the upper floor of the library. It had been tricky, at first, circumventing Angel, who seemed to hover around the school-aged children and librarian. Though he was their elder by some thirty years, their life experiences far exceeded that of the Aurelian vampire pacing back and forth on the ground floor, and they’d eventually managed to sneak into the room undetected by him or the others. 

“Spike was right about him,” Esme commented in their own unique language, a blending of all those they’d learned throughout the years. 

Derrick quirked one brow at his mate inquiringly. 

“Broody and lacking any facial expressions?” she clarified deadpan. 

Derrick bit his lip to keep from laughing, and his pointed look promised retribution for almost giving away their position; Esme just winked at him before turning away to stare down at the small gathering once more. 

“He’s rather smart for a human,” Derrick commented some time later, referring to the watcher. The pair had listened intently while the group downstairs had pored over several books, trying to determine what had happened to their slayer. “What? I’m just saying. They had to have figured it out since they managed to snatch Buffy back, right?” 

“Look, Angel’s leaving,” Esme interrupted. “I better let Clayton know so he can take over surveillance.” 

“Be careful,” he whispered to her and trailed a finger down along her pale cheek. She nodded and stepped away, her stride swift, yet silent, as she made her way out of the building. Derrick’s eyes remained on her retreating back until she was out of sight, only then did he return his attention to the Englishman and three students.


	46. Chapter 46

_“You_ do _realize what would happen if word of this got out, don’t you?”_

“Yes. I… we… it was more than they ever thought possible. It was just supposed to be you and the Slayer. How… how did you manage to sway them to your side?” 

“Don’t rightly know m’self,” Spike answered truthfully. “It started with the Slayer telling the Marchioness, and it just kinda snowballed from there. Chit seems to inspire loyalty. Hell, they don’t even realize what they’ve done yet.”

“Will you make it official?” 

“And have the Master seek me out? Are you bloody _crazy_?” 

Doyle bit back a retort. He’d already overstepped his bounds when he’d shown the vampire what would have happened had they returned to their time period and played out that timeline. Some things were better left to witness firsthand. Spike didn’t realize it yet, but his demon was going to demand it – the question was how long it would actually take. 

The two settled into companionable silence after Spike’s outburst, each lost in thought while they finished off the second bottle. It wasn’t until the last of it had been poured into their glasses that the vampire spoke. 

“How long’re you here this time?” 

“Got nothing pressing to attend to just yet,” Doyle replied.

“Guess that means I’m putting you up, huh?” 

Doyle grinned and downed the last of his drink. “You gonna tell the Slayer?” he asked as he rose to his feet. 

“Prolly.” Spike pushed his chair back and stood as well. “Hell, I practically alluded to it before I left the house tonight, so she’ll just nag me to death until I do tell her. Not that anything is going to come of it, mind. But if I don’t tell her, she’ll ask one of the others. And it’s not something I need getting out.” 

They left the club behind, the Duke of Sevring offering the pair a ride home in his coach. Talk soon turned to the ball being held tomorrow night at an acquaintance of both the Duke and Marquess, and how they could possibly get out of going. Everyone was chuckling when the coach pulled to a halt outside Spike’s townhouse. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” Spike told the human. 

“I suppose so. I don’t think Caroline is going to let me get out of this one,” he replied. “Especially given that business has kept me away from the last two.” 

Inside, Spike ushered Doyle upstairs to the room he used when he happened to “drop in.” 

“I’ll have my man bring something by for you to wear tomorrow. Oh, and if you happen across a redheaded female? Play nice. She’s the Slayer’s new project.” 

“Play nice? What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” 

But, the vampire didn’t answer; he was already inside his room. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy really hadn’t wanted to attend the ball being held, something which pleased Spike – and Doyle – to no end. The thought of celebrating so soon after Mrs. Rothworth’s dusting had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She’d forced herself to go, however, if for nothing else than to socialize with the few human she regarded as friends. 

All traces of the incident had been eradicated, the clan planned on staging a carriage fire for the day after the ball. Their purpose was twofold; it enabled them to wax over the minute details of a wake and subsequent funeral, and it allowed the vampires to slink off to the country under the guise of a brief mourning to deal with the remaining humans. 

She was still on the fence as to whether or not she was going to go. Spike, surprisingly, hadn’t pressured her one way or the other. In fact, he’d been unusually subdued on the subject – as if he were harboring secrets of his own. 

Which reminded her, she still had to ask Spike about his blood comment from earlier. And what in the world a sect was. 

The final notes of the piece the orchestra was playing drew to an end, and Buffy halted in front of her dance partner, Marcus’ father, the Duke of Rutherford. 

“Thank you for the dance, m’dear. I believe my son is next on your dance card?” the elderly man asked. 

“My pleasure, Your Grace,” Buffy responded sinking into a deep curtsy, just as she felt a slight tingling sensation at the vampire’s approach. She glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, the Duke’s heir was making his way to her side. 

“Marcus,” she greeted. 

“Buffy. Father.” The Marquess inclined his head towards his father as the elder man relinquished his hold. 

“Good evening, son. If you’ll both excuse me, I see the Earl of Valasay trying to gain my attention.” 

Both nodded, and a moment later, Marcus twirled them away as the beginning strains of a new song began. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked without preamble. Word of Buffy’s abuse had swept through the clan, the majority of the vampires wondering how she’d managed to survive nearly being choked to death. It was only a select few that knew the real reason she was alright, that the bruise marks she’d obtained were no longer visible on her neck. 

“I’m fine,” she responded. “Slayer healing and all that.” 

“Are you going to come? Tomorrow?” 

“I don’t know yet. It’s…” She sighed, unable to explain her reticence. 

“You don’t have to watch. Just being there would be enough. Solidarity of clan and all that.” 

“I’ll—” 

“How’s Angelina?” 

“Huh?” The abrupt change in topic took Buffy by surprise. So much so, that she faltered in her step. The vampire’s lightning-quick reflexes smoothing over her mistake, however, before anyone happened to notice. 

“The human girl? Lady St. James?”

“Oh! She’s well.”

“She’s not here tonight?” 

“No…. uh… she didn’t feel up to it just yet.” 

Marcus just snorted. 

Buffy’s eyes narrowed, pinning him with her characteristic “don’t mess with me” look. 

“You leave her alone. She’s been through enough without having a… someone like _you_ breathing down her neck.” 

“Someone like me?” he exclaimed in mock affront. “What did _I_ do?” 

Buffy rolled her eyes. 

“How about overbearing, thinks-he-knows-what’s-best-for-everyone… _male_?” 

“So, it’s not me being a vampire that’s bringing out these maternal instincts?” 

“Pfffft. Not hardly.” 

“Two weeks.” 

“Two weeks?” 

“I’ll give you two weeks before I start making my presence felt.” 

“Two months.” 

“Two _months_?! One month… and not a day more!” 

“Agreed.” 

Buffy bit her lip to keep from looking smug. In all honesty, she thought Angelina was doing remarkably well given her circumstances. She’d only pushed for two months’ time because she’d known the vampire would force her to half that. A month to stew would do the handsome fledge some good. He’d no doubt had the ladies – human and vampire alike – throwing themselves at him since his formative years. 

“But, you have to desist if she doesn’t... you know,” she threw in as an afterthought. 

His leer told her that wouldn’t be a problem. 

After Marcus, the parade of men seemed to blur until, finally, she felt Spike at her back claiming her for the next dance. 

“Having fun, pet?” he murmured in her ear before twirling her around to face him. 

“My feet hurt,” she complained. “I feel like I’ve been dancing all night. What time is it, anyway?” 

“Gone two o’clock.” 

“Two o’clock! Gah! I _have_ been dancing all night! I’ve barely said hello to Celeste or Caroline. They’re going to think I’m avoiding them.” 

“No, they’re not. Do you want me to take you over there so you can visit?” 

The first few notes of the waltz began and Buffy shook her head. 

“No, I want to dance with my husband first.” 

“Whatever you say, love.” Secretly, Spike was thrilled. He loved these unconscious gestures of the Slayer’s affection. How she put him first before all others, like it was a foregone conclusion. 

He basked in the feel of her in his arms as they moved about the floor with a few other couples, the majority of them vampires. The waltz had yet to take a firm hold within London’s polite society; the only reason it had as much of a following as it did was because it gave vampires a chance to shock their human counterparts somewhat secretly. Personally, he loved the near-scandalized looks of the prim matrons, knowing that the only reason they seemed to put up with the dance was because the Ton’s most eligible bachelors enjoyed it so. 

Spike swept Buffy from the dance floor just before the song ended and settled her amongst her friends. He bent and gave her a quick kiss before he left, causing a few of the women in the Slayer’s circle to sigh dreamily. 

“Does Lord Chadsworth have a long lost brother we don’t know about?” Celeste asked her friend, knowing good and well the answer. Not to mention that she was already affianced. 

“Think they broke the mold with that one,” the Duchess of Sevring replied. “Though my Rafe seems like he could hold his own in a match-up.”

Buffy blushed, pleased with her friends’ assessment. It made her feel better knowing she wasn’t the only one that noticed Spike’s unguarded moments. Those little things he did or said that proved his, heretofore, unspoken affection. 

A few hours later, Buffy was doing everything in her power to hold back the yawns that seemed to plague her. She was tired, both physically and mentally. She’d still yet to decide as to whether or not she was going with Spike to the Earl of Hawkingstone’s estate. Something she’d probably spend what little remained of the night trying to figure out since most were riding out just before dawn. 

Mentally sighing, she smothered another yawn and tried to focus on the conversation swirling around her, wondering when Spike would show up and take her home. 

“Excuse me, ladies,” Doyle’s familiar voice called out a greeting behind her. “I’ve come to steal Lady Chadsworth from you. Her husband bade me fetch her.” 

Buffy rose gracefully, grateful to finally be going home. As much as she loved her friends, right now she was ready to get out of her dress and crawl between the sheets of her bed and sleep. 

Farewells were given all around then the Slayer gratefully took Doyle’s arm and allowed herself to be led towards the exit. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy moaned out loud at the first touch of Spike’s cool fingers on her skin. Both were devoid of clothes, Buffy reclined on the bed, Spike sitting beside her. With a few fingers, he traced a random pattern around one perfect mound, watching with interest as the darker-hued nipple tightened almost instantly. He rolled the pert nub between thumb and forefinger, smiling when it hardened even more. 

Unable to resist, he lowered his head, cupping her malleable flesh as his mouth closed over his prize. He felt her practically jackknife off the bed and used his free hand to pin her to the mattress before attacking her flesh voraciously, alternately biting and sucking until she was near mindless with need. 

When he felt she couldn’t take it anymore, he released her breast with a last loving caress of his tongue, and before she had a moment to recover, Spike had stretched out over her body to pay homage to the other. 

Buffy was dying, she really was. It never failed. Here she was, ready for hard and fast, set-the-sheets-aflame, mind-numbing sex… and Spike was being Mr. Take-My-Time Guy. It left her feeling frustrated. Like a rubber band stretched taut and on the brink of snapping, but unable to achieve the end result. 

“Spike,” she whimpered helplessly. 

He seemed to take pity on her, releasing her over-sensitized nipple from his mouth. 

_‘Oh thank god,’_ she thought, just a second before he resettled himself between her legs, his erection nestled intimately against her sex, and kissed her. Her toes curled as he plundered her mouth with his tongue, his bold possession leaving her gasping for breath. Afterwards, soothing her with a gentleness so sweet, it brought tears to her eyes. 

A few stray drops seemed to slip past her closed lids, and Spike kissed them away, murmuring nonsensical words in her ear that caused even more tears to fall. These, too, he licked away… 

Like he was taking her pain inside himself. 

How was it that he knew what she needed when she didn’t?

His attentiveness to her released the floodgates she’d been trying to hold back ever since learning about Mrs. Rothworth. Holding him tight, she sobbed her grief into his bare neck until she could cry no more. 

Spike held her all the while, knowing she needed to get it out of her system so that she could begin the healing process. When she was finished, he made love to her with the same gentleness he’d shown earlier. Afterwards holding the Slayer close until he felt dawn approaching. He eased himself away from her body then, quickly donning his clothes so that he could make it inside his waiting carriage before the first rays of the sun cut across the sky. 

He’d not bothered badgering the Slayer into attending. True, she’d come a long way in her attitude. And while she may condone what was being done to the humans, Spike didn’t think she was quite ready to witness it firsthand.

And if she was?

It was a decision only she could make.


	47. Chapter 47

Buffy awoke with a smile on her face until her muddled brain registered two things simultaneously: her hand encountered an empty space where her husband was supposed to be and the lack of tingles along the back of her neck that indicated he was nowhere in the room. Frowning, she opened her eyes and looked around.

Sure enough, the room was empty save her.

She climbed out of bed and snagged her robe from the back of a chair, quickly making her way towards her bedroom. A bath lay waiting for her as she stepped through the connecting door; her lady’s maid, Heather, was setting out an emerald green day dress on the bed for her to wear. Sensing her presence, the girl looked up and bobbed a curtsy, murmuring a polite greeting.

Buffy inclined her head before stepping behind the curtain and sinking into the warm, inviting water. How the servants seemed to have everything ready and waiting for their lord or lady’s pleasure just boggled her mind. She scooted down in the tub, careful not to disrupt the water too much, until her head rested against the lip, closing her eyes as the soothing liquid enveloped her body. The deep ache that had settled in her chest and refused to let go seemed lighter today. Spike had seen to that.

Just thinking about how gentle he had been with her caused her bottom lip to tremble slightly.

He’d been so caring last night, somehow instinctively knowing which buttons to push to bring about the tears she’d really yet to shed because of Mrs. Rothworth’s dusting. Holding her close while she’d lamented the loss of her mother figure. That she’d been a vampire hadn’t mattered. The woman had been kind to her, helping Elizabeth settle into her life amongst the Aurelian clan. 

Heather intruded on her reverie minutes later to help wash her hair, and Buffy was suddenly eager to see Spike. To tell him thank you for last night. Out of the bath and seated before the vanity, she fidgeted in her seat while her maid put the finishing touches to her hair. Once she was pronounced fit enough for a certain vampire, she was out of her chair and racing towards the door, calling out a thank you to her maid over her shoulder.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy knew before entering his study that he wasn’t there. That he wasn’t anywhere in the house.

And in a moment of clarity, she knew.

He’d left to see to the humans.

She didn’t know whether she should be mad that he’d gone without her, or hurt that she’d been left behind.

Backtracking out of his study, Buffy headed to the kitchens. If anyone knew where the vampire had gone, it would be the senior staff.

The cook and housekeeper were chatting at one of the tables when she sailed into the room. 

“Have you seen the Marquess? Or, more to the point, do you know where he’s gone?”

They both shook their head in the negative, the housekeeper adding, “Lord Chadsworth left before sunup this mornin’ takin’ Travis with him, m’lady.”

“And you don’t know where he might have gone?”

“His lordship has gone to the Earl of Hawkingstone’s estate and won’t be back for a few days,” Higgins announced upon entering the kitchen.

“Lord Hawkingstone’s?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“How long does it take to get there?”

“M’lady?”

“I _said_ , how long does it take to reach his estate?”

“Several hours by coach, m’lady. But surely you don’t mean to—”

“Oh, I _mean_ to, all right. Have someone saddle a horse for me. Mrs. Cremshaw, I’m going to need some clothes. Trousers and a shirt… shoes as well. Is there anyone here that you trust to see me to Lord Hawkingstone’s?

All three shook their heads negatively.

Crap. Buffy had no idea where she was going and needed a guide. Someone that wouldn’t be hurt on the return trip home because he just happened to be out at night, alone on a deserted country road.

Then she had a thought.

“How do you guys communicate with the other servants?”

“M’lady?”

“You know… the servants of the other vampires? Those that know?”

“The seal. Invert it when you seal the missive and the others will know that it can be read.”

“Higgins, you’re a life-saver! I’ll be in the study. Mrs. Cremshaw, you’ll see about some clothes?”

The older woman frowned but nodded.

“Hurry! I want to leave as soon as possible.”

Buffy lifted her skirts and hurried from the room. In the study, she sat at Spike’s desk and penned notes to several of her friends. They’d most likely all left for Byron’s estate, but she didn’t figure they’d take all of their servants with them.

She really didn’t want to have to travel alone. She had other, more important things to worry about. Like how she was going to remain upright on the horse she’d be riding, at a very fast pace. It was why she’d asked for the mannish clothing. She doubted very much she’d manage the feat in a dress.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy paced the confines of Spike’s bedroom in the borrowed clothes the housekeeper had managed to acquire. True, it hadn’t even been a half an hour since she’d had Higgins see to the delivery of her notes, but she was becoming impatient.

Oh, who was she kidding? She’d passed impatient the second the young male servant had left the townhouse to deliver her missives. A brief distraction had come when Mrs. Cremshaw had knocked on the bedroom door with a set of a young stable boy’s garments and well-worn boots to match. The switch in attire had taken her all of ten minutes to accomplish. Then she’d been back to pacing.

A knock sounded suddenly, and Buffy raced to open the door. Higgins stood on the other side, slightly flustered.

“Good evening, m’lady. Johnston, the Marchioness of Haversham’s man, is waiting below to see you to the Earl of Hawkingstone’s estate.”

“Thank you, Higgins!”

She hurried past him to rush down the stairs, but his voice stopped her.

“M’lady?”

“Yes, Higgins?”

“May I be so bold as to suggest a hat?” He held out a billed woolen cap that was large enough for her to stuff her hair inside before securing it on her head.

“Higgins, you’re a genius! I don’t know what I’d do without you!”

The servant blushed at her praise, but couldn’t help muttering, “Just remind Lord Chadsworth it was _you_ that wanted to go hieing off into the night after him, so he’s well aware of _whom_ is actually deserving of his displeasure. And that his loyal servants did everything in their power to dissuade you from this course of action.”

“Trust me, Higgins. He’ll know. Vamp’s got a lot to answer for, leaving me behind,” Buffy griped, muttering the last under her breath.

~*~*~*~*~

“The Earl’s estate is straight ahead, Lady Chadsworth,” the servant called out as their horses galloped down the dirt road.

Buffy was grateful that she’d had the foresight to change her clothes. There was no way she would have been able to stay astride the spirited mare she’d been given to ride burdened down by her cumbersome skirts. She’d had to rely on her Slayer’s coordination to remain upright when Renee’s man had kicked his horse into a gallop just outside the city proper, and hers had leapt right after his, eager for the chase. Riding lessons were definitely going to be at the top of her list in the immediate future.

She applied the reins, forcing her mare to a walk.

“I can go alone from here,” she told the servant.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady… but my mistress would flay me alive if I didn’t see you to the front door.”

“It’s alright, Johnston. I can take care of myself.”

“I’ll be seein’ you to the door just the same, m’lady.”

His tone brooked no argument and Buffy finally nodded, allowing him to kick his mount into an easy canter for the rest of their trip.

~*~*~*~*~

There were no carriages that greeted them. Except for the two servants, vampires by the tingles racing down her back, the place looked deserted. No sense advertising their presence here.

The pair dismounted, her traveling companion taking both sets of reins and walking towards the stable. 

“You’ll be okay here?” Buffy asked, concerned.

Renee’s servant nodded. 

“I’ll just bunk down in the stable. Head back to London in the mornin’,” he replied.

“You’re sure?”

“They’ll not harm me, m’lady. Now go on.”

Buffy cast one last look at Johnston as he lead the horses away before hurriedly making her way up the massive steps to the front door of the mansion; one of the servants standing sentry met her halfway. 

“Lady Chadsworth! What are you—?”

“Where’s my husband?” she demanded, cutting him off abruptly.

“Uh….”

“Master vampire. About yea high.” She indicated a height with her hand several inches taller than herself. “Goes by the name of William…”

If the vampire noticed anything funny about her speech, he didn’t comment on it. “Lord Chadsworth … he uh… he…” The minion glanced over his shoulder, seeking aid from his comrade.

“It’s simple really. You either tell me where he is, or I’ll find him myself……And you _really_ don’t want me to have to find him by myself.”

They’d reached the top of the steps and the other minion rushed to open the door for her. She smiled her thanks – manners being an ingrained thing with her now – as she stepped across the threshold and into the main foyer.

No sounds came to her, but her slayer sense was going haywire – there was a good crowd assembled here. Mrs. Rothworth must have been well loved by the clan. The thought caused another pang in her chest, but she shoved it aside for now, focused on finding the others.

She sailed down the hallway deeper into the earl’s home, her booted feet echoing in the deserted corridor. The first minion rushed to keep pace with her while the second remained behind on guard duty.

“Buffy?”

Buffy halted in her tracks, turning towards the source of the voice that had called her name.

“Byron?”

“Buffy, what are you doing here?” the Earl of Hawkingstone asked. He dismissed the minion at her side back to his post then took Buffy’s elbow and guided her towards the door leading to the gardens at the back of his estate where the others were beginning to gather.

“I’ve just as much right to be here as anyone else,” she argued.

“I’m not saying you don’t. Does Sp-William know you’re here?”

“No. The bastard left after I fell asleep. To which we’ll be having a few words about, _trust_ me.”

Byron hid a smile at her words. Renee had told him and the others that Buffy was going to be upset that she’d not been here, but William had seemed adamant that it was too soon. Just goes to show how well Renee knew her friend.

Byron marched through the open double doors with Buffy hot on his heels. No lanterns had been lit, the moon being the only source of light they’d need. He heard Buffy stumble behind him, and with lightning-quick reflexes, managed to catch her before she fell face first to the ground.

“How the hell do you see…” she began as she looked up into his face. “Oh… never mind.”

“Here. Take my hand.”

Buffy placed her hand in his and allowed Byron to lead her the rest of the way. The closer they got the tighter her stomach knotted, but she ignored it. This was something she had to do. If Byron noticed her agitation, he didn’t say anything. Something for which she was eternally grateful. If he’d said anything to her just then, she didn’t think she’d be able to go through with this, to actually stand by and allow these vampires to kill the three humans they held captive.

Renee was the first to notice hers and Byron’s presence at the edge of the clearing. Her eyes conveyed her understanding before she smirked at the others present. One by one the mini conversations going on ceased as they noticed the pair, Spike engaged in a heated discussion with Clayton and Joseph, thus being the last to turn her way.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike knew the second the Slayer had joined them. Hell, he’d known the moment she’d woken up that she’d been both pissed and hurt at his leaving. But he’d had to do it. If she was going to come, it would be because she wanted to. He didn’t want her to be able to come back and say he’d coerced her if he’d brought her himself.

Which was why he was arguing with Clayton and Joseph. They’d wanted to get right to the matter at hand, but Spike had held back, wasting time while he waited for the Slayer to appear. The reason they were arguing was because he’d not told anyone that she was on her way. He needed their circle to see for themselves that she could do this without his influence. Give proof that she was part of their clan because she wanted to be.

Not that any of their group doubted the Slayer’s loyalty. Or he theirs to her.

He just wanted the Slayer to have their trust and respect because of her own actions and not because he’d claimed her. She had that with the Marchioness. After today, the others would give it as well.

“’Bout time you showed up, love. The clan here was getting a mite restless,” Spike called out.

The silence that followed was nearly overwhelming in its intensity.


	48. Chapter 48

Buffy eyed the proceedings with cool detachment. They’d become more frequent in the recent months and she had to wonder if the latest uprising within the clan wasn’t what Doyle had alluded to all those years ago. She could feel the agitation of the vampire seated beside her and placed a discreet hand on his thigh. His outward demeanor didn’t change – he still bore the face of his demon as he glared at the latest perpetrator – but she could feel the subtle easing in his body.

Right now, he wanted to rip and tear at the fledge that had dared to feed so openly. And not even from someone that wouldn’t be missed – the vamp had drained the only daughter of a Viscount. One to be married in the coming weeks. An event that she and Spike were supposed to have attended, but had declined since they were due to travel to Paris next week for an extended visit.

Clayton had been the one to stumble across the body, and after quickly hiding the evidence, had set out after the vampire who had seemed to be on a feeding streak throughout the city. Her friend had found him easily enough, the bodies left in his wake providing a trail the simplest of humans could find. Clayton had drained the careless vamp to incapacitation levels and left him bound and hidden out of sight, then spent the next few hours disposing of the bodies. It was nearing sunup when he’d finally brought the vampire to Whitt’s and left it for the clan to decide his fate.

“Stake him.”

The words brought Buffy out of her reverie and she and the others seated along the table on either side of her nodded their agreement to Spike’s verdict. The vampire had jeopardized the clan. The penalty was death.

Chained to an unbreakable ring in the stone floor, the vampire sentenced to die hissed and cursed, baring fangs to the two that moved in with wooden stakes to see the sentence carried out. A few minutes later, it was over, the vampire’s dust floating to the floor causing the chains to clank against the ground.

Now that the distasteful task of seeing to the disposition of one of their own had been concluded, the clan’s interest perked up. As the two human males were led into the room, it took all Buffy had for her to remain seated and not jump over the table. This time it was Spike that soothed her.

 _‘Justice, Buffy. Not vengeance,’_ she fervently reminded herself. It didn’t work. She knew this was going to be personal. It had become personal the moment they’d dared to touch Celeste. She’d seen the battered and broken body of Marcus’ sister. Had comforted the distraught vampire while the others had hunted for the person that had killed her.

Angelina had been at the front of the pack, the young vampiress had wanted to gift her mate with the human that thought he could kill the sister of a Duke and get away with it. 

Buffy’s eyes shifted from the hulking man in front to the smaller, softer male behind him. Celeste’s husband. The man that thought he could kill off his wife and her brother, then lay claim to the Dukedom through their sixteen-year-old son. He’d soon seen the error of his ways when he’d been thrown to the floor at the Duke’s feet by Angelina and had lifted his eyes and taken in the true countenance of the man he’d tried to kill. His bravado had left him then, urinating on himself as he witnessed the ridged brow and fangs staring stonily down at him. The begging had begun, but to no avail. 

It had been Angelina that had discovered the man’s plot, intimidating the one that had actually done the deed until he’d been babbling like a baby and confessing to a multitude of other crimes. Crimes that Celeste’s husband had had him commit.

She could feel the restlessness of the others and knew that all hell was going to break loose in a moment. And unlike before where she normally sat back and observed with impassive eyes… this time… this time she wanted so much to be a part of it.

A silence seemed to descend over the room.

At some unseen signal from Spike, Marcus attacked. He leapt over the table, claws and fangs barred, a snarl escaping his mouth. The others were right behind him.

Buffy watched the proceedings with a smile on her face. As the two humans’ blood was spilled, she couldn’t help thinking about the first time she’d observed Aurelian justice.

~*~*~*~*~

_Buffy knew she was probably breaking several of the bones in Byron’s hand, but couldn’t bring herself to stop. They were all looking at her. Every single vampire standing in the clearing. Her nervousness grew to near-epic proportions, the anger she’d been feeling towards her husband as she’d ridden hell bent on the back of her mare washed away as everyone’s attention centered on her._

_She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her eyes locked with those of the bound humans staring at her so helplessly. Her grip on Byron’s hand tightened even more, and this time she could hear one of the bones snap. The vampire, bless his heart, didn’t even flinch. Just watched the others watching her as she continued to watch the humans._

_‘You can do this, Buffy.’_

_She could feel herself wavering, her Slayer instincts rearing their head in the face of all the vampires present._

_“They killed her without remorse. Just yanked her out of her carriage and into the burning sunlight. They probably spent the next several hours drinking off the money they stole from her.”_

_The words were for her alone. Byron didn’t look at her as he reminded her why she was here, not wanting the others to see her brief lapse._

_She nodded once to let him know that she heard, steeling her heart and glaring at the three humans. Giving the vampire by her side a quick squeeze to his hand, she released it and crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her body so that she would be looking straight at Spike._

_“Sorry I’m late, husband. Seems someone took the carriage and then forgot to leave me directions…”_

_Renee laughed outright. The majority of the other assembled vampires – those not within their inner circle – eyed Buffy and Renee with a mixture of confusion and fear. Fear on her behalf that she’d speak so boldly to the master vampire, even if he was her husband._

_“…but please. Don’t let me hold you up any longer.” She gifted her husband with a feigned smile and waited to see what he’d do._

_“You heard the lady,” Spike told the group._

_His words had the desired effect. Conversation ceased. Everyone’s attention returned to the three chained humans that cowered near a hedge as the master vampire stepped away from Clayton and Joseph and moved towards them._

_Where the officious-sounding words came from, Buffy didn’t know. But Spike seemed to be reciting text long memorized as he charged the assembled humans with crimes against the Aurelian clan. It was a scene straight out of a courtroom drama, but with the obvious deviances. For one thing, there was no jury, just a group full of angry executioners. For another, there was no innocent plea – they’d been found guilty and the “hearing” was just a formality before the sentencing phase proceeded._

_Buffy watched it all without flinching. Some sort of morbid fascination made her unable to turn away as the men were bandied about amongst the vampires, their blood slowly drained amidst their cries and pleas while they begged for mercy._

_When the last body fell to the ground unmoving, Buffy quietly slipped away as the mood of the group changed. Fresh off the high of blood from the source, it would be a while before the revelry wound down._

_She didn’t need to watch this. She’d seen what she’d needed to see. Had actually done nothing to stop their form of justice._

_He was there before her legs gave out, sweeping her up into his arms and striding back towards Byron’s home._

_“You did fine, love,” Spike whispered against her ear as she clung to his neck. It seemed to be all the impetus she needed. She couldn’t even say why she cried, those men had definitely deserved their fate. Maybe it was the lack of guilt she felt at doing nothing. Perhaps it was the way Spike held her in his arms, more comforting than sexual, like he knew how hard it had been for her, seeing beneath her show of bravado in front of the others to the conflicted Slayer she was trying desperately to hide._

_Her tears fell silently down her face as Spike moved down the hall on the way to the room he’d been given. He didn’t say a word as she thoroughly soaked the front of his shirt, just held her close and kept on walking._

_“I love you, Spike,” she mumbled into his chest once they reached the room they’d been given._

_Spike brushed a kiss across her forehead and said nothing. The door opened and Travis stood back to allow them to enter._

_“Will there be anything else, m’lord?”_

_“No. Thank you, Travis.”_

_Travis bowed out of the room and Spike closed the distance to the bed and set the Slayer on top of the covers. It was still early yet, and he had every intention of putting Buffy to bed and returning to the others, but one look at her face stopped him cold._

_“Make me forget,” she whispered._

_It was a long while before either of them slept, and as Spike pulled the Slayer close, he pushed aside the thought that she was wrapping him around her little finger._

~*~*~*~*~

Spike had just wiped the blood off his mouth when Buffy threw herself at him. Her legs locked around his lean hips, holding her body in place, and her lips fused with his as she thrust her tongue in his mouth, for once dominating their foreplay. It didn’t last long, however, cutting herself on one of his protruding fangs as she did, her slayer-enriched blood filling his mouth.

He growled then, fisting his hand in her hair and yanking her lips away, exposing the smooth column of her throat. Spike struck before he could think the matter through, burying his fangs in her neck and drinking deeply of her blood. His eyes rolled back into his head as her sweet elixir washed over his tongue, his muffled growl when she ground herself against his erection obliterated by the goings on in the room. He felt fingers at the fastenings of his trousers and he did an about face and made for his room. 

Barely ten paces out the door, he felt cool air caress his cock. He picked up his pace to try to reach their room, only to stop a moment later as he felt the head of his shaft nudge at her opening. The chit hadn’t worn her knickers! 

He groaned as she slid down on his length, encasing him with her molten heat, and he thought, _‘Screw the bedroom!’_

“Fuck, woman!” Spike cried out, tearing his mouth from her throat.

Spike turned and slammed her back up against the wall, grinding his hips into her. The force sent a portrait clattering to the ground, but neither one noticed nor cared. He pounded into her, his grip bruising on her hips as he held her in place.

Buffy thrilled at his rough treatment, secretly pleased that she was making him lose it so completely. Hard, fast, and wild – he took her there against the wall. Anyone could walk by, and it just heightened the experience. Made her want more. Her nails scored his back beneath his shirt, knowing the effect it would have on him. How the scent of his own blood would drive him over the edge. His sharpened canines found a new home on the opposite side of her neck and the first pull of her blood into his mouth sent her spiraling into orgasm. Her fingers glided down his lower back and gripped his ass. Marveling at the way his gluteal muscles rippled as he continued to pump his hips while he rode out her orgasm. 

Spike gritted his teeth, the Slayer’s vaginal muscles contracting so enticingly around his cock, her blood filling his mouth and threatening his own climax. When she went boneless in his arms, he released her neck and lapped sloppily at the wound, pivoting on his heel and continuing his journey to their room. The door stood open and he stepped over the threshold and kicked it shut behind them.

He went straight to the bed, though he knew with certainty that they’d be making their way around the room tonight. There was an air about the Slayer; he could sense the barely leashed violence in her and licked his lips in anticipation. It had been a long while since he’d been able to play like this. He could feel himself swelling even more inside her at the thought, heard her moan in bliss when she felt it too.

The top of the mattress stood nearly waist high, and he lowered the Slayer’s upper body down onto it. Before she had a chance to comment on his not joining her, he dragged her ass off the mattress and began thrusting into her willing body. The position enabled him to fuck her with minimal stimulation so that he could get himself off rather quickly, which he did. Flooding her body with his release minutes later.

He heard her groan in disappointment as his movements stilled and couldn’t help smirking and pulled out of her when she tried to grind herself against him to seek relief.

“Ah, ah, ahhh, Slayer,” he chuckled. “Do I need to get the restraints?”

He could smell her arousal, but the willful expression in her eyes decided him.

“Restraints it is, then… and don’t think of getting off that bed, or you’ll not like what’s going to happen.”

Well, she would... and she knew it too. For no sooner had he turned away towards the dresser than she’d jumped off the bed and made a run for it. He grinned and took off after her.

The chase was on and it would be a while before either of them slept.


	49. Chapter 49

“They’re growing bolder.”

“Someone’s obviously leading them. Pushing them to test the boundaries of the clan,” the Duke of Abberly commented. His ability to detect patterns was well known to the group of vampires – and single human – gathered at the Duke of Rutherford’s estate.

Spike and Buffy had spent the last six months in Paris after dealing with Celeste’s husband, taking in the sights of the French city as they’d sought escape from the growing unrest in London. Having just recently returned to the city, Spike had wanted to catch up on the latest goings-on and had suggested a quiet retreat in the countryside, and Marcus had eagerly volunteered his estate.

“Can’t be but a fledge himself. We’ve kept tabs on who’s been turned since the Slayer and I showed up here,” Spike commented. The frequency of the attacks was starting to grate on his nerves – that and the Slayer’s dreams that caused her to wake up screaming were enough for him to find the perpetrator and rip out his unbeating heart.

“Unless it’s one of the Master’s other childer.”

That brought Spike up short. He’d never even thought of that.

Spike tried to remember everything Darla had ever told him about her sire and his other childer, but was drawing a blank. The only thing he could recall was her saying that she’d left the Master’s court to run off with Angelus. She’d never said anything about vampires mingling with humans, he’d just always assumed how the four of them had lived – on the fringes of society, killing and stealing to get the things they needed – was how it was done. Now he realized that something must have caused the shift, and the growing tendencies of the vampires here in England seemed to suggest it was going to happen. And soon.

“Someone not happy with the way we’re doing things, and seeking to gain a position of power,” Clayton mused.

“It can’t be a titled vampire. They’d have sufficient authority out amongst the Ton,” Angelina added.

The group looked at Alric. Though his family was titled, as the third son, he had no hope of inheriting, unless his other brothers were to die unexpectedly – and then, only if neither one had produced the requisite heir.

“It makes sense,” the vampire commented. “But he still couldn’t be acting alone. He’d have no position of authority to lure others to his cause without the support of someone in a position of power among the clan. He’s probably just a right-hand man of one of the Master’s childer.”

“Probably an unfavored childe,” Adam added. “And if their plan were to fail, the fledge would take the blame.”

Spike glanced over to see the determined gaze of the Slayer. Her look seemed to suggest that she was thinking along the same lines. Doyle’s prophetic words of their combined destiny came back to him and he thought back to what the half-breed had said. Something about it being twenty or so years in their future.

Which happened to be right about that time now.

Were they supposed to stop this from happening? Allow vampires to continue to mingle with society? Somehow, he couldn’t see how the Powers would allow that to happen. Vampires were, by nature, creatures of the night. While he’d enjoyed this idyllic time here in the past, he knew that this was not the natural order of things.

So, what then was his and the Slayer’s destiny?

Buffy rose gracefully to her feet, her gaze sweeping over the vampires she considered her family. They were all there. Marcus and Angelina, Derrick and Esme, Adam, Joseph, Byron, Alric, Clayton, her dearest friend, Renee. And her husband, Spike – once her mortal enemy, now the love of her life. There wasn’t one among them that she wouldn’t lay down her life for. Protect with her last breath if it came down to it.

Her life in Sunnydale was but a distant memory. Try as she might, Buffy couldn’t bring forth the images of her friends, her watcher, her mother… Angel. Since being thrust into the past, her life had been irrevocably changed, and there’d be no going back. This was where she belonged now. 

She had the dagger she always carried on her person out and had slashed into her wrist before Spike could think to stop her. 

Buffy remembered Spike’s words from long ago. The conversation they’d had about how the two had inadvertently formed their own line, the formality only lacking the blood rite necessary to complete the separation from the Aurelian clan. He’d stressed the need to keep it from the others. That the second they did something about it, there’d be no going back. The Master would know in an instant, and most assuredly not be pleased. 

The scent of her enriched blood on the air had the effect of a naked virgin being dumped unceremoniously on a sacrificial altar. Eleven sets of eyes zeroed in on the blood dripping from her cut wrist. 

“Slayer,” Spike growled warningly.

“It’s time, Spike.” Buffy threw her dagger at him, and watched as he easily caught it. She turned and walked over to Marcus’ bar and snagged a Cognac glass, draping her wrist over the opening so that her blood started to fill it.

“You don’t know—”

“I’ve seen the signs. You have too. I’d rather not go into this without everyone knowing…”

Spike walked up to the Slayer, snagging her bleeding arm and bringing it to his lips. His tongue laved at the clean mark she’d made to get it to stop bleeding. “You’re a pushy bint, ya know that?” he murmured and gave her wrist a kiss.

Rather than use her dagger, Spike licked the blood off the blade and handed it back to her. His face morphed to that of his demon and he tore a gash in his own wrist and placed it over the glass the Slayer held. All eyes were on the steady stream of blood, and none of the assembled vampires could hold back their demons as the combined scent of Slayer blood and Master Vampire blood permeated the air. 

When the glass was halfway full, Spike removed his arm and hastily licked the wound closed. He glanced around the room, taking in their confused expressions.

He spoke then, drawing their gazes away from the glass of blood the Slayer held and back towards him.

“Many of you are too young to realize this, but as the Slayer and I took you into our confidence, we formed a pact of sorts. As the years have passed, you’ve put our needs over those of the clans… in essence, forming our own separate clan. You did it unconsciously, thinking that our interests were that of the clan’s. But such is not the case, and it’s time for you to choose. Things are happening, things we can’t control. Things we’ve warned you about. Change is coming. Vampires… they’re going to go to ground, they’re not going to mingle with humans like they do now, which is why we told you to prepare.”

Spike looked at each of the vampires assembled and nodded as they seemed to get what he was saying.

“Now it’s time for you to make a choice. To stay with the Aurelian clan, or to bind yourself to us... to me. I’ll tell you right now, we’ve no idea what these bloody Powers have in store. We’ve—”

Spike broke off when the group seemed to stand in unison. As they walked forward, their fangs found their wrist and tore into their own flesh, spilling their blood, much in the same way he and Buffy had.

“You do realize—”

“Our place is with you… and Buffy,” Marcus spoke for them all.

Spike sighed, resigned. He glanced down at the Slayer standing by his side. “Hope you’re happy, love. We do this and we won’t have long to wait for the repercussions.”

“I’m tired of waiting. Better to get this thing out in the open. See who keeps jerking our chain.” Buffy held out the glass as one by one, their friends came forward and allowed their blood to fill a small portion of it. 

When the last one had finished, Spike took the glass from the Slayer. The room seemed charged with energy as he murmured the words that would bind them all to him. He finished the brief passage that staked his claim over the group and then turned to the Slayer and offered her the glass. 

Buffy took a healthy swig of blood and tried not to gag on the coppery taste when it filled her mouth. She swallowed and passed the cup to Marcus. Seconds later, her head was yanked aside and Spike’s fangs were sliding into her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed and her legs seemed to turn to jello as he pulled her blood into his mouth. All too soon, it was over, and she felt the raspiness of his tongue as he lapped at the fresh marks. Then he grabbed her hand and drove his fangs into her wrist, quickly retracting his canines and allowing the wound to bleed.

She stood there, dazed, trembling with desire as Spike moved away from her and to the next person in line. Marcus’ neck was attacked with the same gusto as hers had been before he tore into the vampire’s wrist and left it to bleed. Buffy found out why a second later when Marcus turned to her and lifted her hand to his waiting mouth. His fangs sank into her skin, not so much an uncomfortable feeling as it was unexpected – she was surprised that Spike would let another bite her. She didn’t have time to contemplate the action, however, as his wrist was thrust into her face and she was forced to drink.

Her eyes closed and she gave herself over to the ritual. Another set of fangs, a different wrist presenting itself to her lips, each one after Spike had finished, until everyone had taken a sampling of her blood, and she theirs. Then, they’d moved onto each other.

Her blood was zinging in her veins – a rush she couldn’t even begin to describe. Her eyes finally opened and Spike was there before her. Bloodlust and just plain lust blazing from demon eyes. The lust part she could totally agree with. She was so horny it was a wonder she’d not thrown herself at him yet.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, pet? That pounding you feel is each one of us racing through your veins. They’re feeling the same thing too. An awareness of one another. The effects will fade some after a bit, but it’ll be there. Always there, lurking in the background.”

Buffy nodded helplessly, unable to say anything.

~*~*~*~*~

She was dumped unceremoniously on the bed, and Buffy wasted no time in dispensing with the barriers her clothing provided. Uncaring of her dress, she took a handful of either side and tugged, ripping the garment down the middle and exposing her undergarments to Spike’s heated gaze. She didn’t bother with her corset since the ties were in the back. Instead, she concentrated on the mounds of material wrapped around her lower limbs. Her body was on fire, and she needed Spike to ease the ache between her legs. She tugged and pulled until the material finally gave way from the strain. The cool air rushed over her legs, then his hands were there. His cool palms sliding up her legs to her thighs, gripping them tight and dragging her towards the edge of the bed.

Buffy licked her lips and she stared at his cock as it jutted from the nest of dark curls at his groin. The tip wept with his need, and she regretted that she couldn’t taste the pearly drop of precum as it dribbled out onto the head of his shaft. She stared entranced as he wrapped one hand around the base and leaned forward to guide it towards her entrance. She felt him rub along her opening and struggled not to close her eyes, wanting to watch as he slowly sank into her.

Spike stared at the Slayer as she watched him push his way into her pussy, and it took everything he had not to spill his load right then. His jaw worked as her inner muscles gripped him tight, her velvety heat doing everything in its power to make him come. He forced himself to breathe and then grabbed her knees and forced them wide, opening her up even more. Allowing her to look her fill.

Which she was doing. Staring transfixed at their joined bodies. Watching his shaft while it slid in and out of her body. His hands moved from her knees to her hips seeking better purchase so he could speed up his thrusts. Her legs remained as he’d left them and Spike watched as she braced herself up on her elbows, staring fixated at her mound, and his cock, as he drove himself into her.

He felt like a voyeur. Him staring at the Slayer. Her watching herself being fucked by him. Neither said a word, as if it might break the erotic spell. Her eyes started to glaze over and he knew she was about to come. His pace increased and he angled his hips, hitting that spot deep inside her womb. She gasped and he smirked, doing it again… and again. 

Her inner muscles clamped down on his cock without warning, and he clenched his jaw tight and tried to ride out her climax. She was chanting his name, her love for him, nasty little tidbits that drove him insane as she came all over his cock, unable to look away as it began to gleam with her juices. 

Spike closed his eyes and tried to block out the sounds of her climax, determined not to be pulled under just yet. He wanted to stay right here, buried in the depths of the Slayer’s pussy, his cock gloved intimately in her silken heat. 

“God… Buffy… feel so good… so hot… fuck…” His hips continued to move, his thrusts delving deep, until he couldn’t go any farther. She felt like heaven, her juicy quim squeezing him just right.

Her hands were playing with her breast now in the aftermath of her orgasm, twirling each nipple between thumb and forefinger. His mouth watered; jealous of her fingers he lowered his head to one breast and nudged her hand out of the way. His mouth quickly closed over the taut peek and his fangs sunk into the plump flesh before he could stop himself.

She cried out, her fingers seeking his hair to hold him close, or pull him off; Spike didn’t know, or care. Just continued to feast on her blood as it flooded his mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head and he continued to thrust. Faster now. Harder. Possessing her with fangs and cock. Staking his claim.

His demon was high off the other vampires’ blood, and the familial bond thrumming through his veins. He tore his mouth from her breast and latched onto the other one, fangs digging deep. Again the Slayer gasped, and Spike felt the reciprocating clutch to his cock. She loved this, the things he could do to her. The way he made her feel. She was his. Only his.

_‘Mine. Mine. Mine,’_ his mind chanted in time to his repeated trusts.

Her blood continued to ooze from the marks on her breast and he tore his mouth away to pull her up against him. The crimson liquid stained his chest when her twin mounds ground against his bare skin. He was fucking her now, mindless to her cries of pleasure, how she clung to him, pleading for more. The rapid pulse in her neck drew his gaze, his faded marks causing a rush of pleasure to course through his being.

He couldn’t get enough of her. Would never get enough of her.

His mouth was salivating now and he latched onto his marks, tearing into her flesh as his cock pulsed with his release. She screamed as another orgasm was ripped from her body, and Spike groaned against her throat while drawing long pulls of her blood into his mouth. His legs gave out then, and he collapsed to the throw rug beside the bed, bringing the Slayer down on top of him.

“Mine,” he mumbled as he squeezed her tight to his chest. “My Slayer. Love you, Buffy.”

Buffy cooed her agreement, a goofy smile on her lips as she drifted off to sleep. She thought vaguely that they needed to get off the cold floor and into bed, but she was too comfortable to move just yet.

Later.


	50. Chapter 50

Angel’s thoughts were troubled as he walked through the various cemeteries of Sunnydale. He hoped that Giles was right, that he’d be able to get Buffy back to their time, safe and in one piece. With her memories intact. His lips compressed in a hard line as he thought of all the things that Spike could be doing to Buffy, alone and without him to look after her – his mind conjuring up several possibilities, not the least of which was the Slayer’s death at Spike’s hand. 

Especially given the condition Buffy had been in before she disappeared. 

He shied away from his negative thoughts and tried to distract himself by taking out a few newly risen vampires. His sensitive ears picked up the faint sounds of earth being displaced a few headstones over, and turned towards that direction. A vague sense of him being followed drew him up short, and Angel turned in a circle while listening intently to the night sounds all about – blocking out the rather loud ones coming from the awakening fledge near his feet. 

His eyes narrowed as he gazed into the distance, but his preternatural hearing could detect nothing amiss. He shook his head and dismissed the matter from his mind, once more concentrating on the ground shifting near his feet.

_‘Damn fledges making minions. It’s a wonder that vampires haven’t become extinct due to stupidity alone.’_

The newly-risen vamp had no sooner gotten his chest above ground than Angel squatted beside the struggling demon, driving his stake home. Dust covered his arm and he smacked at his leather sleeve to clean it off, rising to his feet as he did so. 

His thoughts once more turned to the brief conversation he and the watcher had earlier in the library. Rupert had claimed it was just a matter of determining which spell had been used to send Buffy to the past, and doing a counter spell to get her back. Angel wasn’t leaving anything to chance, however, and his lumbering steps took him towards Sunnydale’s warehouse district. 

It was time to pay his psychic childe a visit.

~*~*~*~*~ 

From his place atop the adjacent building, dressed entirely in black and keeping to the shadows, Joseph watched Drusilla through the open windows of the warehouse. She’d been screeching since before he’d arrived, scaring the minions scattered about the room while she railed and screamed, alternately whining for her “Spike” and her “Daddy.” He winced when another ear-piercing scream rent the air, the sound having the effect of nails down a chalkboard – and he was a good distance away. He could only imagine what her minions were made to suffer, since they stood much closer. 

He turned away from her antics as he sensed the approach of another. He scanned the ground beneath him outside the building and noticed the familiar vampire making his way towards one of the side doors. 

_‘Interesting,’_ he thought as Angel let himself inside. He turned back to the window to see Drusilla stop in her tracks and race toward her visitor. 

“Daddy!” she cried, before stopping abruptly some distance from his side. “You’re not my daddy.” She hissed then, fangs bared as she backed away. 

Joseph watched her hands return to her hair, pulling on the dark tresses while she mumbled incoherently, swaying back and forth. Angel seemed to take her behavior in stride, moving closer until he could draw the sobbing female into his arms.

~*~*~*~*~

“He’s lost to me,” Drusilla whimpered. “Lost…”

“Who’s lost, Dru?” 

“My Spike…” 

Angel drew back, gripping her upper arms tightly with his hands. “What do you see?” He shook her, eyes narrowing as her head lolled and a demented smile came to her lips. “ _Tell_ me what you see.” 

“I can’t… they’re…” Drusilla’s eyes glazed over. “… _hidden_. Why is he hiding from me, Daddy?” she wailed. She was mumbling now, lost in a place of her own making. A place she’d created after he’d broken her. After Angelus had broken her. 

Angel drew her back against his chest and he tried to calm her down. He’d seen Drusilla in moods like this often enough to know that he’d get no more information out of her. He turned, his eyes pinning one of the minions in place. “You! Tell me what happened here.” 

The minion cowered in the corner under the weight of Angel’s stare, but answered nonetheless. 

“I don’t know, Master. She just started screeching all of a sudden. Calling for somebody named William over and over.” 

Angel grunted. Drusilla had obviously seen something happen that had to do with Spike. He was just going to have to wait until she was lucid before questioning her further. Sighing in resignation, he guided his childe towards the makeshift bedrooms in the warehouse.

~*~*~*~*~

“I thought he didn’t have contact with any of his childer,” Clayton commented as the pair disappeared from their sight. Clayton had joined Joseph earlier, since he’d been tasked with keeping an eye on Angel.

“I don’t know. His actions aren’t consistent with what Spike shared about him. Guess we’ll just have to keep an eye on him, see where he plays out in this thing.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“You’re just tryin’ to get eaten’, aren’t ya?” Spike grumbled at the figure lounging comfortably in the chair situated before the dying fire. “You do realize that I was sleepin’ here, right? It being bloody daylight an’ all?” 

The answering laughter grated Spike’s nerves and he growled for a moment before realizing that he was going to end up waking the Slayer. 

“What do you want? Can’t you let a vamp sleep in peace?” 

“I could, yeah. But why deny myself the pleasure of your charming disposition?” 

Spike rolled his eyes and eased from the Slayer’s grasp. With the half-breed ensconced comfortably in his room, there’d be no sleep until Doyle had said what he’d been tasked with saying. Better to get up now and get it over with so he could crawl back beside Buffy’s warm body and go back to sleep. He climbed naked from the bed and snagged his pants from where they’d been discarded earlier, pulling them on over his hips and securing them in place. 

“You want something to drink?” he called out as he walked towards the dresser that held glasses and a few various bottles of liquor. Marcus was nothing if not the ultimate host. 

“Whatever you’re having is fine with me.” 

Spike poured two healthy doses of scotch in each tumbler and made his way over to the chairs. He handed Doyle a glass, setting his own down on the table between the two chairs so that he could stoke the dying embers and chase the chill from the room. Not that he noticed, but his Slayer was partial to the heat. His annoying friend could freeze for all he cared. 

“So, what is it _this_ time?” Spike asked as he plopped down in his chair and took a healthy sip of his drink. “Wait… Don’t tell me. You came to gloat about the blood bond, right?”

Doyle grinned at the disgruntled vampire. He remembered the first time they’d had this conversation. How Spike had practically taken his head off in his denial to claim the vampires as his. In the subsequent years, he’d been equally adamant about not performing the blood rite. How he’d managed to resist his demon’s demands was a constant source of amazement for Doyle and those he worked for. 

“Slayer made you do it, huh?” he chuckled knowingly. If the vamp had one weakness, it was his human wife. Though Spike never said anything, Doyle knew there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to make her happy. 

Spike snorted, not bothering to answer. It wasn’t like the half-breed didn’t know anyway. 

“Yeah, well… when you cave, you do it with gusto. I see you finally told the girl.” 

Spike looked askance at his friend, not sure what he was referring to. 

And then it hit him. 

He jumped up from his chair, eyes darting towards the bed and zeroing in on the slumbering figure huddled beneath the covers. He’d actually done it. Not that she’d probably heard him… or maybe she had. But…. _Bloody hell!_

His fingers raked through his unkempt hair as the weight of what he’d done pressed in on him. 

“I’d tell you to breathe before you pass out from lack of oxygen, but you being a vampire and all…” 

Spike’s head swiveled around towards Doyle, ready to tear off his head if he so much as cracked a smile. The smile was there, but it was tempered by the understanding in his eyes. 

“Sit down before you fall down, Spike. You look like you’ve been sucker punched.” 

Spike fell into his chair, his unsteady hand reaching out to grip his glass and bring it to his lips – downing the remaining contents in one long swallow. Doyle rolled his eyes at the waste of good scotch but stood up to retrieve the bottle. At the dresser, he stared at the other two bottles before grabbing those as well. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Check!” Doyle shouted, pleased that for once he had the vampire on the run. 

“Shhh! You’re gonna wake the—” 

“Spike?” Buffy called out sleepily. 

“ _Now_ look what you’ve done!” Spike hissed at his friend, then turned towards the bed. Unfortunately, the three bottles the two demons had consumed the last several hours had messed with his coordination and he scattered the chess pieces all over the board. 

“You did tha’ on purpose,” Doyle complained drunkenly. “Jus’ couldn’ stand t’see me win for once!” 

“I bloody well did _not_ , you git.” Spike growled back, having momentarily forgotten the Slayer. 

Buffy snorted as the two commenced to bickering back and forth. It would be a while yet before either remembered her presence, if at all. There was something about chess and those two that made everything else take a back seat in their minds. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she’d not really eaten last night. She grabbed her robe and slipped it on, calling out that she’d be back shortly and left the room. Their raised voices continued to chase her down the hall. 

The smell of freshly cooked meat lured her towards the dining room and she stepped into the room and saw Clayton sitting at the head of the table, his nose buried in The Times. 

“Ma non prendi mai niente meno seriamente? Dobbiamo trovarti un compagno, Clayton , seriamente! Tutto questo leggere non farà che strizzarti il…. Qual’è la parola che stavo cercando?” [Don’t you ever lighten up? We’ve got to find you a mate, Clayton, seriously! All that reading is bound to shrink your… what’s the word I’m looking for?”] 

“Penis?” he asked, lowered the paper and smirking at the Slayer. 

“Erm… yeah.” _‘Don’t blush, Buffy. Don’t blush, Buffy.’_ She sat in the chair to his left and quietly thanked the servant that set a plate filled with steaming hot food in front of her. “Ad ogni modo…” [Anyway…] 

“And who’s to say I’m not.” Clayton folded the paper and set it aside, grabbing his goblet of blood and saluting her. “Just because I’m not as loud as some people…” 

The blush she’d been trying to prevent blossomed on her cheeks. She and Spike _had_ been rather loud last night after their brief nap on the floor. “Ok, fine. I concede defeat. But seriously though, Clayton. Have you given it some thought? Surely there’s some nice girl out there…” 

The male vampire looked up at the approach of another. 

“Quick, Byron. Rescue me! Buffy’s on her mate kick again.” 

Buffy’s head swiveled towards the newcomer, taking in his cautious stride as he walked up the opposite side of the long, wooden table and sat down across from her. 

“¡Diablos, no! Ella me perseguía la semana pasada. Ella puede fastidiarte por un rato.” [Hell no! She was hounding me last week. She can pick on you for a while.] 

“No veo—” Buffy began. [I just don’t see—] 

“Célibataire, Buffy. Regarde dans le dico.” [Bachelor, Buffy. Look it up.] 

“Est-ce que vous pourriez choisir un langage et vous y tenir, les gars? Il est bien trop tôt pour passer de l’un à l’autre comme ça.” [Would you guys pick one language and stick with it? It’s too damn early in the morning for this constant shuffling back and forth.”] 

“Hey, du mischst dich hier ungefragt in unser Liebesleben ein, du kannst nicht ernsthaft erwarten das wir dir das leicht machen?” [Hey, you’re getting involved in our love lives without being asked, you don’t seriously think we will make that easy on you, do you?] 

“Arsch,” she grumbled good-naturedly, throwing her napkin at Byron’s head. He caught it easily and smirked at her. 

“I see our friend is back,” Byron commented, switching back to English. He’d passed by Buffy and Spike’s borrowed room and heard Spike yelling at Doyle. The words were rather garbled, and the smell pervading the room indicated that both had been drinking rather heavily. “Does he have some enlightening news for us?”

“Probably. But, it’ll be a while before we get to find out what it is. Those two went through the three bottles that had been left on the dresser. It’s a wonder they aren’t both comatose right now.” 

The two males heard the sound of a fist connecting with flesh, and resultant thuds against the floor. Then all went quiet. 

“I think they are now,” Clayton commented unnecessarily. 

“Well, if he thinks I’m going up there to haul his ass into bed, he’s got another think coming.” 

Clayton and Byron hid their smiles behind their cups as the Slayer attacked her food. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy’s hair fanned out behind her as the stallion she was riding galloped along the trail in the late afternoon sun. While the others either slept or lounged about, she took the opportunity to escape outside and contemplate the decision she’d made last night. The decision she’d forced Spike into making. 

The appearance of Doyle so soon after their blood rite ceremony couldn’t be a good thing, and she wondered if maybe she’d been a bit too hasty. But she was tired of waiting, truth be told. Not that she was ready to go home. Far from it, in fact. The thought of being dragged back to Sunnydale was anything but appealing. She was just tired of walking around on egg shells, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. 

She’d initiated the blood rite because if she and Spike were suddenly sucked back in time, she wanted a way for her friends to find her, provided they lived through whatever it was that was going to happen.

No, she’d made the right decision. Even now she could feel the subtle pull in her blood, and felt comforted by it. 

Buffy reached the crest of another hill and eased her mount to a stop. He tugged at the reins a bit, snorting his displeasure at being stopped in the middle of his run, and her legs tightened about his girth as he prepared to rear. She easily rode out his temper tantrum, finally leaning down to give him a pat to his neck once he’d settled down. When she sat up, her eyes roamed over the wide open spaces of Marcus’ ancestral home, wondering if she was looking at it for the last time. 

Her thoughts were growing morose, so she shoved them away. She’d not let what _might_ happen cloud what was, to her, a special occasion. Digging her heels in the stallion’s sides, she raced back towards the mansion. 

It was time to find out what Doyle had to say.


	51. Chapter 51

“His name is Havlov. He was a Russian Cossack before being turned by the Master in 1523. As a human, Havlov was a sadistic bastard, and the Master nurtured that quality in him. Backfired though, when Havlov’s fellow Cossacks found out what he’d become and nearly got them both killed.”

“Couldn’t have made the Master too happy,” Buffy commented.

“Yes, well, the Master decided to visit the Colonies, let things settle down a bit. Allow the stories of vampires to get embellished until they became tales told to children to keep them in line. While there, he heard stories of a woman. A whore that had forsaken God and lay on her deathbed.”

“Darla,” Spike growled.

“Yes, Darla. She became the Master’s favorite, but Havlov thought to reclaim that place for himself. Nothing he ever tried worked, however. Darla may have been just a fledge, but she’d seen things as a human. Knew the nature of man, and applied those principles to demons.”

“What? That all men are assholes and not to be trusted?”

“Oi, love! I take exception to that! Not a bloody arsehole, and you know you can trust me.”

“Sorry, was having a flashback to my pre-Slayer days.” She gave Spike a cheeky grin; he snorted and rolled his eyes at her attempt at being funny.

“Buffy’s right, though. Darla didn’t trust him, and stayed close to the Master’s side. At least until they’d returned to Europe. The wealth she’d suddenly found herself surrounded by eventually got to her… bored her, truthfully… and she started venturing out alone more often. She was almost half a century by then, and the Aurelian clan then was like it is now, very close-knit. Havlov kept his eye on her, however, looking for signs of weakness.”

“I take it he found one?” Buffy asked.

“Yeah… though she enjoyed her life in the upper crust of London society, Darla was, and always would be, a commoner by nature. And keep in mind, she was a prostitute.”

“Give ‘er a good tumble in a darkened alley and she was happy,” Spike interjected. At Buffy’s look he added, “What? ‘m just sayin’. It was how she met Angelus, after all.”

“How very true, Spike. And, it was Havlov that took Darla and a couple of others from the clan up to Ireland. See, he’d spied her watching some of the human commoners as they drank and caroused at several of the waterfront taverns in London and figured the way to get her from the Master’s side was for her to find a pet of her own. It worked. She made Angelus and three years later, they departed for parts unknown.”

“So, with his number one competition out of the way, Havlov could again become the Master’s favorite?” Buffy added, nodding thoughtfully.

“Guess it didn’t work though, because I’ve barely heard of him,” Clayton added. “Have you, Joseph?” Of the assembled vampires, discounting Spike, Clayton was the second oldest, having been a vampire for forty years; Joseph had an extra twenty on him.

“Vaguely. Nothing substantial,” Joseph replied. “I couldn’t pick him out among the clan. Adam? You’re the one that suspected one of the Master’s disgruntled childer.”

“Only because it fits the pattern. The Master has too many childer for me to keep track of, and any inquiries I might make now would tip our hand.”

“It’s not really going to matter,” Doyle told them. “With the blood rite having been performed, the Master is going to know. It’ll be a perfect opportunity for Havlov to get back in the Master’s good graces. Take out those that would dare to break from the Aurelian clan, and he would be redeemed. Since you guys represent the crème de la crème of the British aristocracy, your ‘deaths’ would wipe out the visible presence of vampires in society.”

“Allowing Havlov’s plan of a free-for-all to come to pass,” Renee concluded.

“How much time do we have?” Spike asked.

“Another twenty-four hours at most,” Doyle hypothesized.

“Oh my god, Spike. The servants. What—?”

“It’s all been taken care of, love.” He didn’t mention to her that though they’d been pensioned off with enough money to see themselves, their children, and their children’s children, settled in a life of luxury, those that knew of their way of life had elected to stay in London – even after they’d been told that the mark each of them bore on their necks was no guarantee to their continued safety. Spike had growled at their stubbornness but had written out glowing letters of recommendation that his servants could use to seek employment elsewhere.

Spike pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against to walk towards the windows. The heavy curtains had sealed out the late-afternoon sun, and he pulled the material aside to see that darkness had descended. He stood there for a moment, staring out at the peaceful countryside, his features oddly wistful at realizing that everything was about to change.

Without bothering to turn around, he spoke quietly. “You heard him. We’ve got less than twenty-four hours. Go by horseback and gather what you might need, the rest we leave behind. We’ll meet up at the Dowager Duchess of Sevring’s estate. She’s off visiting her son and his wife and won’t mind us using her home for however long we might need.

The group quickly departed, and a moment later, Spike felt the Slayer’s arms slide around his waist. 

“Hey, love,” he murmured quietly, grabbing her hands and drawing her in front of him. He lifted her left hand, placing a kiss to the top of the ruby ring she wore – the wedding ring she’d never taken off, no matter the other jewelry he’d gifted her with over the years.

“Spike, I’m sor—”

“No regrets, love. Like you said, it was past time.”

“Then why are you upset?”

“’m not. Just gotten used to this place, is all. Now, run and get your stuff, I’ll be there in a minute.” Spike placed a quick kiss on her lips then shooed her from the room.

The click of the door as it closed was ominously loud to the two remaining occupants. Spike turned, his brow quirked as he gazed upon the fidgeting half-breed.

“Well?”

“W-well what?” Doyle asked nervously.

“Don’t ‘well what’ me. You know to what I’m referring.”

“Uhhhh…”

“How ‘bout I start, and you feel free to cut in at any time?” He saw the trapped expression on his friend’s face and snorted. “Let’s start with that song and dance you gave me over twenty years ago about my and the Slayer’s destiny. Good enough for you?”

From his place across the room, Doyle swallowed heavily. He always known that the conversation he was having now with the vampire would likely get him killed – no matter that they were friends. Which was why he’d been so close-mouthed on the whole “destiny” situation.

“Havlov was just a red herring, something to get the Slayer motivated. And she fell right into your bloody trap... drawin’ me and those around us with her.” Spike was pacing now, clearly not happy with the conclusions he was drawing. “You said it yourself— hell, even history shows us that vampires become creatures of the night. So, what’sit matter that Havlov gets his wish?”

“Spike…”

“No! I’m tired of being led about on a string. And I’m not gonna risk one of my own for your bloody Powers until you tell me exactly what’s goin’ on.” He stopped his pacing, his eyes boring into Doyle’s.

Doyle rose on shaky limbs and crossed to the bar. If he was going to die, it would be with a drink in his hands.

“Her presence here is instrumental in the coming battle. Yours too,” Doyle told him, his back still to the vampire.

“You’ve told me this already. Right after the Slayer got her memories back.”

“Yes… only… I lied a bit about the time frame.” The growl had him stammering out his excuses. “It wasn’t me, Spike. Do you think I liked not telling you the entire truth up front? I knew this day was going to come… where I’d have to explain myself… explain what the Powers intended all along.” 

“And just what is it they _do_ intend?”

“Everto Proeliator Lux Lucis…roughly translated, Demon Warriors of Light. I’ve got to admit, when the Powers told me about it, I had to laugh. Especially when they said that the vampire was you.” Seeing Spike’s less-than-pleased expression, Doyle rushed to explain. “I mean, come on… William the Bloody? The self-professed Slayer of Slayers? Breaking from his clan and forming his own sect that helped maintain the balance of good and evil, a claimed Slayer at his side?”

Doyle plopped back in his chair, taking a healthy drink of his brandy.

“I watched her when she came back from L.A., you know, after the thing with the Master. I even spent the latter half of the summer trailing behind her while she was there. It’s where I’m from, not that it matters. But, I watched her and couldn’t help think, ‘ _This_ is the girl that’s going to do all that? This self-destructive Slayer that seemed to almost welcome death?’ I have to tell ya, I thought the Powers had a screw loose.”

Spike started at hearing that Buffy had had a death wish. Struggling to reconcile the strong-willed Slayer he’d fought on parent-teacher night, with a slayer that could have been his third. He grabbed a drink for himself, settling in a seat across from Doyle. “What happened?”

“She exorcised a few demons. See, the Anointed One was bent on resurrecting the Master, and had reassembled the vampire’s bones. Slayer found out about it… about the same time she found out some of her friends had been taken captive. She went in, stopped the resurrection spell, and got out her frustration by taking a sledgehammer to the Master’s skeleton. Fine piece of work, too.”

Spike smirked at the image of Buffy giving the Master what for, even if he _had_ only been a pile of bones.

“Still… I wasn’t convinced about her destiny. Then you showed up. Even so, I still wasn’t convinced. Especially when you went after her at school. Good thing her mom happened along.”

“Axe hurt like a right bitch,” Spike murmured, rubbing the back of his head in memory.

“Then Halloween happened, and I thought, okay, maybe the Powers do know what they’re talking about, because suddenly you and the Slayer were gone. When I watched you in the alley, I was surprised. You could have easily drained her dry. But you didn’t.”

“ _You’re_ the one that pointed out to do so would affect my chances of getting back home,” Spike commented.

“True, but when do you ever let rational thought stay your natural impulses?”

Spike grumbled but didn’t answer.

“Anyway, the rest is pretty much history. You claimed the Slayer. She fell in love with you, and you her. She’s far exceeded any expectations the Powers had for her regarding her training. You both have brought about the prophecy all on your own. Everything you’ve done has enabled you to fulfill your role. After this thing with Havlov, you and your clan will disappear, meld into the shadows—”

“And what?”

“Quit being so obtuse. This is your destiny, William. You and your ‘Warriors of Light’ will observe the goings on of man and demon alike and maintain balance. You have all the tools you might need to see to your task. Money. Power. Anonymity.”

“So we’re just supposed to wander the globe taking out the Big Bads?”

“Something like that, yeah. You’ll become like the wind, so when you do extract your justice, no one will be the wiser to you and yours.”

“And how long—?”

“I really can’t answer that. But, you get your clan in hand, mold them to your ways, so that when you _are_ yanked back, they’ll continue on in your absence.”

“What happens when we’re back in the present? We just go back to our old ways?”

“I’ve shown you your path, only _you_ can decide whether or not you stay on it.”

Doyle disappeared not long after his speech, leaving Spike with a lot to decide. Finishing the last of his brandy, he walked out of the study and hurried to catch up with the Slayer. They had an errant childe of the Master’s to dust, and a future to decide.


	52. Chapter 52

Giles looked at the three weary teenagers and reluctantly called a halt to their research session, his announcement meeting with groans of complaint that they’d yet to find anything substantial. No one had left the library all day, except for Xander. And that, only for food. His impromptu hint that Buffy could be pulled back to their time was the driving force keeping the group at it, their fingers flipping through page after page of the assorted tomes littering the library table. But it was late, the children trying to hide yawns behind their hands, unwilling to give up without having found an answer to their latest predicament. Though he would have liked to continue, Giles knew that nothing more could be done this night. 

He held up his hand, forestalling any further comment from Willow. 

“Cordelia, I trust you can make it home safely.” 

Cordelia looked up from one of the books she’d been reading, marking her spot so she would know where to begin tomorrow. 

“Yeah, sure,” she replied, closing the book and rising to her feet. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and straightened the wrinkles from her skirt, somehow managing to look spectacular even after having spent the entire day, and a good portion of her evening, seated around the library table. 

“Very well, then. I’ll take Willow and Xander home. Let me just grab a few things before I lock up and we can all walk out together.” 

Giles retrieved his briefcase from his office, stuffing a few of the books he’d been perusing inside. The others he left where they were for tomorrow. It would be Sunday, so there was no chance of someone coming in behind them. 

“No complaints; we can continue this tomorrow,” he told them, upon encountering Willow and Xander’s stony expressions, latching his briefcase closed. 

“But, Giles—” Willow began, completely ignoring Giles’ dictate. 

“Willow…” He paused a moment, pulling off his glasses to wipe wearily at his eyes. “I understand your concern, really, I do. But you all need your rest. As do I. You’ll be no help to Buffy like this. If it makes you feel better, I’ll be here first thing in the morning.” 

“But what about Mrs. Summers? I think Buffy said her mom was supposed to be back from her trip tomorrow evening,” Willow added, hoping the news would change the watcher’s mind. She really didn’t want to leave. Not until they’d found the means to bring her friend back. 

“Have faith, Willow.” He laid a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out in the morning, and Buffy will be back with us before you know it.” 

Willow looked up at Giles, her eyes beseeching the older man to bring her friend back. And soon. At his confident look, she nodded hesitantly. 

“Now, come… it really _is_ getting rather late, and I don’t want to worry your parents.” 

Willow sighed and nodded again, saying nothing as she turned and headed towards the library doors. 

“No chance of that,” Xander muttered under his breath, falling into step behind her. 

~*~*~*~*~

“What the hell is that?” Derrick muttered to his mate when the group approached the tiny blue abomination trying to pass itself off as a vehicle. They both watched the brunette female unlock the door and slide behind the driver’s seat of the red convertible. The engine roared to life, and a moment later it tore out of the school parking lot, mocking the ancient relic left waiting for its passengers to climb inside. 

“It’s a _car_ , you ass,” Esme drolled, deadpan. 

“You sure ‘bout that?” 

Esme just shook her head. Though, she had to admit, he did have a point. The car stood out like a sore thumb. She patted Derrick on the shoulder, commenting, “Look on the bright side. The thing probably doesn’t get over 35 so it’ll be easy for you to keep up.” 

“Wha—? Keep up? Wait! _Hey_!” Derrick griped, but she’d already disappeared – her destination the redheaded girl’s house. Grumbling under his breath, he set out after the vehicle, easily keeping pace while maintaining his cover. The tiny, sputtering car pulled to a stop outside a drab, single-story home, and Derrick watched as the boy, Xander, unfolded himself from the passenger seat and waved a goodbye to the others. He caught sight of Byron lurking in the shadows and the two shared a look between one another. 

How the group managed to survive outside Buffy’s influence was a wonder to both vampires. True, Xander wasn’t a Slayer, or for that matter, even graced with extraordinary fighting abilities, but, he _was_ aware of things that went bump in the night, and his nonchalant attitude as he sidled up his walkway drew looks of amazement from the vampires standing guard over him.

Derrick did give a smidgeon of credit to the watcher for waiting until the boy had gone inside before puttering off in his relic. With a silent wave to Byron, he was gone. 

At the redhead’s house, Derrick took a moment to grope his mate before leaving her with a lust-filled expression – eyes at half mast, lips swollen, a small drop of blood that pooled on the plump surface when their desire had gotten the best of them and twin sets of fangs had elongated. A look that quickly turned to calculating retribution when he reluctantly made his excuses and hurried after the watcher. He smirked, his back to her, of course – wouldn’t do for her to witness his pleasure of her unfulfilled desire, there’d really be hell to pay then – knowing they’d make up for it later, once the sun was up and they were secure within their fortress, the surveillance cameras taking over in their absence. 

Upon his arrival at the watcher’s flat, he was pleased to see the elder man take a bit more care with his surroundings, suitcase in one hand and a crucifix in the other while he made haste to his front door and inside. The sound of the bolt sliding home was loud in the vampire’s ears. Satisfied Buffy’s watcher was safely ensconced within, Derrick checked the various cameras hidden around the man’s home, receiving an affirmative via his headset from Adam that all appeared in working order. 

His job done, Derrick stealthily made his way back to the building that would be their indefinite home.

~*~*~*~*~

Alric eyed the newcomer with some interest. It had been pure chance that had taken him by the Sunnydale airport, a niggling at the back of his neck, almost like sensing Spike nearby. Or Buffy. His eyes widened in astonishment as he witnessed a young woman emerge from the cargo hold, her eyes scanning the surrounding area with equal parts fascination and wariness. 

_‘Well, this certainly throws a monkey wrench into things,’_ he thought to himself, watching the dark-skinned Slayer intently – the stake clutched tightly in her hand as she’d jumped down from the airplane a dead giveaway to her identity. That, and the warning tingles that told him one was nearby. 

Buffy and Spike needed to get back, and soon. Once the group had settled into their newfound roles after dealing with the situation in London those many years ago, they had taken great pains to avoid being anywhere in the vicinity of the current Chosen One. Hell, if Buffy had had her way, they’d be on opposite sides of the globe to avoid any type of contact. Spike had put his foot down once when his wife had wanted to uproot them to the northernmost reaches of the Yukon, just because a Slayer had been called in Greece, and they’d happened to be there at the time. The resulting row had been spectacular.

Spike had eventually compromised and taken them to Japan, and later, Russia, instead. If Buffy wanted snow, he’d give her snow. Just in a more civilized area… say one with actual buildings and decent modes of transportation. Not to mention food. She’d griped at first, in a pout even Renee had been unable to break her from, but she’d come out of her funk, her eyes bright with excitement upon bringing home a Ronin warrior, a masterless samurai, like he was some stray, claiming he’d be teaching the group a new form of fighting. Alric had to admit, he’d enjoyed every lesson the bushi had dished out – they all had. When it had come time to leave several years later, they’d entrusted the care of their home to the warrior, a task he’d taken on with pride. Even now, Tashiro watched over the place, his burial mound at the top of a hill overlooking their home. A home they’d rarely seen since leaving. Surprisingly, one he’d missed the most, even more than the palatial estates they’d left behind in London. Maybe it had been the few years of relative peace they’d had while living there. 

Pushing those idyllic thoughts aside, Alric concentrated on the new Slayer, his mind mulling over the appearance of a second chosen one while following behind at a discreet distance. He tracked her to an abandoned warehouse, where he watched her curl herself into a ball in the corner, her hands clutching the wicked-looking stake as she drifted off to asleep. Another few minutes, and he’d disappeared as soundlessly as he’d arrived, doing a last quick circuit of Sunnydale before returning to the others. 

They’d have a lot to discuss once the group reconvened and had given their respective reports. 

The first of which being whether or not they aided the watcher in his slayer’s retrieval from the past. 

~*~*~*~*~

The group had filled one another in on their respective assignments. The revelation of Angel’s appearance at the warehouse where Spike and his sire had taken up residence had met with some raised brows. But it was Alric’s news that there was a new slayer in town that had sparked the heated debate, several of the gathered vampires gaining their feet to pace in agitation while arguing their point. 

“It’s not like we’d have to actually _hand_ the watcher the information,” Clayton reasoned, ever the peacemaker in the bunch. “A note strategically placed in a book he’s reading, perhaps?” 

“Who’s to say the watcher won’t figure it out on his own?” Derrick interjected. “Now that he seems to be on the right track, I don’t think it’s too farfetched that he’ll find the solution in the near future.” 

“Yes, but in the meantime, we’ll be dodging not only Spike’s sire, who is a seer of sorts, by the way, but his grandsire as well. Throw in the Slayer…” Alric’s voice trailed off, his point made. 

“Alric is right,” Adam added. “Besides, maybe we _were_ the ones that had a hand in bringing her back.” 

“I don’t even want to consider the ramifications of that one,” Byron groaned. 

“I’ll second that thought,” Joseph added. 

“I wish Renee were here. She was very insightful when it came to Buffy’s mindset,” Angelina murmured quietly, her hand tightly grasping that of her mate’s. “Marcus, you were close with the Slayer, what do you think she would want us to do?” 

“We’re all close with the Slayer, petal,” he corrected. The soft caress of his fingers upon her cheek took any sting out of the gentle rebuke. 

“I know that… but… you know what I mean.” 

And Marcus did.

He remembered fondly the Slayer telling him in no uncertain terms of his waiting period before he could begin “courting” the girl who was now his mate. How she’d told him later, much later, that she’d tricked him into the month by intentionally over-demanding the time he’d have to stew. But it was their joint grief over his sister’s senseless murder that the two had grown closer. She’d taken the place of his little Celeste – not that he’d ever dare admit it aloud. In truth, Buffy had become his closest friend, discounting his mate, and both could talk to the other about anything. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t share his troubles and concerns with the others, it was just that Buffy was the first one he went to, and he respected her human take on things, not that being with them for so long hadn’t worn off on her to some degree. But she was more inclined to just listen, whereas the others would be quick to offer suggestions. He liked that about her, how she just sat there, more of a sounding board for him to reach his own decisions about things. 

He’d missed her these past years – even knowing that they’d all be seeing her again. Spike, too. The group had faltered for a bit in their absence. And Marcus knew that if it hadn’t been for Angelina, he would have done what Renee had done… 

Shaking himself from his morose thoughts, he gave his mate’s hand a squeeze and looked at the others. 

“You all know Buffy’s feelings about us being anywhere in the vicinity of a Slayer. I say we give the watcher a helping hand and minimize the time spent waiting for Buffy and Spike’s return. Let our Sire decide our course of action once he and Buffy are here,” Marcus told them. He made eye contact with each of the group seated at the table, his expression telling them without words that a chance encounter with this new Slayer would mean her certain death. The group couldn’t afford to have word of their presence get out. A run-in with a vampire of their caliber would spark discussion between Slayer and watcher. 

And _that_ was something to be avoided at all costs. 


	53. Chapter 53

Spike paced back and forth in front of the assembled group seated around the Dowager Duchess’ sitting room. He eyed each one of his childer – still unbelieving that he had a whole clan to worry and watch over now. The more he stood there, eyeing their fearful yet determined expression in the face of taking on one of the Master’s own childer, and he undead for nearly three hundred years, the more he thought to hell with dealing with said vampire. That it would be best for them to just slip away and let Havlov do as he would. 

His group was too young to go up against so powerful a vampire. Hell, even _he_ was. 

The problem lay in explaining things to them. The full truth this time, now that he knew what the Powers wanted from him, from Buffy and the others. That was what had him pacing. It was enough for him to try and wrap his mind around the idea of he and his clan balancing the scales of good and evil, getting the others to follow was… _Insane_ was what it was. The whole idea of vampires, and okay, the Slayer, keeping the scales on an even keel was laughable at best. He believed he’d mentioned the evil part often enough, but apparently it had fallen upon deaf ears. 

He stopped suddenly; closing his eyes, he allowed his head to fall back and let out an aggrieved sigh. Spike stayed like that for maybe a handful of seconds before his eyes opened again and he lifted his head back up staring at nothing. 

“Sod it all,” he grumbled under his breath, then faced the group and told them in a louder voice, “Get your things, we’re getting out of here. Adam, our ship is ready?” 

“The Emerald is tied up and waiting instructions.” 

“Good. And the other.”

“Already in place.”

“But what about Havlov?” Buffy asked, confused. “Aren’t we gonna—?”

“No. We’re not. Havlov was a ruse.” 

“A ruse? What? I don’t understand.”

“Think about it, Slayer. Havlov’s gonna get what he wants whether we challenge him or not. I’d rather not risk you all getting killed over a done deal.” 

“But—” 

“Havlov was a means to an end, pet. A reason to bring you and me together, form this li’l pack of do-gooders. They’ve been yankin’ our chains all along, Slayer. Our job, our destiny, is to be bloody peacekeepers, maintain the balance on the bleedin’ planet.” His voice was snide, knowing there was no way in hell the others were going to follow him into this. They were demons after all, no matter that they didn’t openly feed on the abundance of humans milling about in their circles. 

The Slayer, he noted, seemed like she’d been sucker punched; she deflated back into her chair, her mouth opening and closing around words that she couldn’t bring forth. Staring up at him with eyes wide and confused. The sudden smile threw him for a loop. 

“So we’re not going back?” she asked. 

“Back?” He paused, bewildered by the question. “No.” He got out no more, however, because he suddenly had his hands full catching his wife as she hurtled herself at him. He backpedaled a bit to maintain his balance, her arms and legs wrapping around him and holding tight. But her exclaimed, “Oh thank god!” nearly brought him to his knees. 

Unmindful of the others in the room, she kissed him, tears of happiness welling in her eyes to fall silently down her cheeks. Spike, never one to turn down the affections of the Slayer, kissed her back. He would have taken it further, but the discreet clearing of several throats brought him up short, and he reluctantly pulled his head back and coaxed Buffy to release her hold on him. 

When she stood on her own two feet, he looked down to see her grinning like a loon. Then her eyes widened, and she turned away, racing to Renee’s side to embrace her friend. Both stood there, bouncing up and down in their mannish attire, looking like a pair of kids. 

“I’m not going back,” Buffy told her, giddy beyond belief. 

“You’re not going back,” Renee confirmed, her smile radiant. 

Spike watched as the Slayer then went from one to the other, hugging them close, unmindful of the tears flowing freely from her eyes. When she’d made the rounds, she stopped and looked at him. 

“So are we leaving, or what?” 

It seemed like that was a signal for the others to grab their things. He shook his head, wondering why he was even surprised that the others would follow without protest. 

“Guess now’s as good a time as any.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike climbed down the steps that led to his quarters. The smell of the salty sea air and the goings on as the captain’s men prepared to set sail distracted him enough so that he didn’t notice anything at first. But, when he did, his eyes widened, then narrowed in anger, and he left the Slayer behind as he strode swiftly down the corridor and threw open the door to his cabin. 

Travis stood there, calmly going about readying the room. Spike noticed he’d already blocked out the port windows so that no trace of sunlight could filter inside in the morning. Candles had been placed strategically throughout the cabin to provide lighting. 

“What the bloody hell?” 

“Good evening, m’lord. Is there anything I can get you?” 

“You can get the hell off this ship and back on land, is what you can do!” he roared. 

“No.” 

Spike blinked. Then exploded. “No?! You _dare_ tell me no?” 

Buffy chose that moment to step inside the room. 

“Travis! What are you doing here?” 

“Seeing to your needs, m’lady. As always. Here, let me take that.” He walked around his fuming lord and took his mistress’ bag out of her hands, moving off to set it on one of the chairs bolted to the floor. 

“But, Travis, your family…”

“The others’ children are grown and will be fine without them. I have no wife or children to leave behind.” 

“You’re not _alone_?” Spike bellowed, uncaring who might here. 

“Spike! Stop,” Buffy admonished. 

“We’re all here,” Travis replied. 

Just then several other outbursts could be heard, and Buffy poked her head out the door to see familiar faces trolling the halls. 

“You’re going to need a staff wherever it is you’re going. Better one well equipped to deal with our lords’ or ladies’ needs,” came the reasonable reply. 

“You never had any intention of using those letters, did you?” Spike ground out. 

“No.” 

“And the money?” 

“Left it in a safe place for our families.” 

“How did you all manage to get on the ship?” Buffy asked. 

Travis blushed a bit. “We stole aboard, m’lady.” 

That brought a reluctant smirk from Spike. A few of their groups’ servants were getting on in years, so trying to smuggle them aboard had to have been an interesting, if not downright funny, sight. He was going to have to adjust their plans for getting off the boat to include the others. There was no help for it, though. Buffy seemed so happy to see his manservant, he didn’t have it in him to deny that they could come along. 

“That’ll be all, Travis. I trust you have a place to stay.”

“Yes, m’lord.” 

“Don’t even say it,” he told the Slayer as soon as the door closed behind the servant. “We’ll bring them with us. Now, come thank your husband like a proper li’l wife.” 

Buffy gave him an appraising look. 

“Right, maybe not so proper then.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

They lay there sometime later, Buffy half draped over Spike while he ran one hand up and down along her bare back. 

“Will you be able to do it? Watch them grow older and die off, one by one? Tell me now, or I’ll leave them with the crew.” 

Buffy nodded around the lump in her throat. She knew he was deliberately painting a grim picture, perhaps to spare her further pain in the future. 

“They wanted to come. It’s what they know. They’re like family, Spike.” 

“All right, pet. Now, let me up. I need to speak with a few of the others and work out how we’re going to do this.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead and disentangled himself from the Slayer, rising from the bed to get dressed. His hands closed over his discarded clothes and he pulled them on quickly and walked towards the door. 

“Get some sleep. I’ll be back in a few hours.” 

She nodded, laying her head back against the pillow. Sleeping deeply until the blast from cannon shot and the subsequent shudders from the ship woke her from a sound sleep. 

Seconds later, the door burst open and a harried Spike rushed inside. 

“Get dressed, love. We gotta go.” 

Buffy jumped out of bed and pulled on the dress she’d been wearing earlier as the ship shook again after it was leveled with another blast. She swayed slightly on her feet, and Spike was at her back to steady her. 

“Hurry, Slayer. Not much time.” 

“The others?” 

“Already seen to. It’s why I was late.” 

She nodded, and bent down to pull on her boots. Her fingers flew over the laces, missing hooks, but not stopping to fix it. Wouldn’t matter anyway. When she was finished, she stood and grabbed her bag, Spike already had his in hand. She hesitated for a moment, having second thoughts about their plan. 

“Are you sure this is going to work?” What she really wanted to say was, “Do we really need to do this?” 

“Yes. Now quit stalling and come on. Don’t fancy actually going down with this thing.” 

The pair raced up the steps and ran out onto the deck. 

Chaos literally enveloped them. 

Spike started yelling at the captain. Telling him not to fight, that they’d no hope against defeating the pirates now swarming the deck. 

Buffy screamed, and he had to force himself not to let his demon out and attack. He turned and watched as she was dragged away and back across the gangplank connecting the two ships. Renee, Esme, and Angelina were treated to much of the same. He bellowed out his denial starting after them, when suddenly the sound of a shot rang loudly in his ears, the tiny steel ball making a nice hole in his stomach as he raced across the narrow board after Buffy. It hurt like a bitch and he fell sideways, off the plank and into the water below. 

Marcus and the others charged after the women and received bullets for their troubles, causing several more splashes to follow in the wake of Spike’s. Then the grappling hooks were disengaged from The Emerald and the pirate ship moved off, back out towards the open ocean, leaving the crippled ship, and its crew, behind. 

~*~*~*~*~

The alarm clock woke Giles from a sound sleep and he reached over and pounded his fist on the button to stop its incessant wailing. At the blessed sound of silence, he fell back against his pillow, rubbing wearily at his temples and the headache he could already feel forming there due to lack of sleep. 

He’d been up late, going through the books he’d brought home with him, without much success, no matter what he’d told Willow. Finally falling into bed late, or rather early this morning, and the few hours of sleep he had hadn’t done much to stave off his weariness. 

But he couldn’t give up. 

Giles got out of bed and stumbled his way towards the bathroom. He emerged fifteen minutes later after a hot shower, hoping the water would appease his abused muscles and help him wake up. The heated water worked wonders, and he was back to feeling much more like himself. In under thirty minutes, he’d had tea brewed, gotten dressed, gathered his research materials and was headed back towards Sunnydale High. When he let himself inside the building shortly thereafter, it was still dark outside. 

His dress shoes rang hollowly in the deserted hallway, his feet on autopilot as he walked unaided down the darkened corridors towards the library – he’d done it so often he didn’t need to turn on the lights to see. He’d left the light on in his office and the soft glow cast a beacon as he turned the corner. The soft illumination caused him to increase his pace, eager now to get a head start on finding the solution to his slayer’s disappearance. And he hoped he had something concrete to share with the children when they finally arrived.

~*~*~*~*~

From the stacks, watchful eyes stared intently as Buffy’s watcher returned from the office with a cup of tea in one hand and a few books in the other. He waited while Giles set the cup aside and lowered the books to the table. When the man was distracted with that task, he raised the small pipe to his lips and blew the projectile towards the cup. His aim was true, and it flipped on its side, sending the contents to splash upon the table and threatening the books placed near it. 

Derrick melded back into the shadows and listened as the Englishman let loose with several blasphemies Buffy would have been shocked that the man even knew. She’d been right in his penchant for books and would do just about anything to ensure their survival. He peered around the corner and saw Giles frantically shifting books away from the flow of tea, holding an unnecessary breath as the book he’d needed the man to look through was shifted to the top of the pile of the ones he’d brought from his office. 

His work complete, he slipped deeper into the stacks towards the sewer entrance that would take him back to the others. All they could do now was wait.


	54. Chapter 54

When Willow and Xander walked into the library several hours later, Giles had to refrain from doing a victory dance, of sorts, in front of them. He’d found the spell to bring Buffy back about an hour ago, and debated calling the children to tell them the good news. But, his common sense prevailed and he’d decided to wait – it would have been rather difficult explaining to their respective parents why the school’s librarian would be calling them at such an ungodly hour… and on a Sunday, no less. Instead, Giles spent the time returning the unneeded books to their proper location and then settled in with another cup of tea while he waited for the children’s arrival.

“Hey, G-man, where’s all our stuff?” Xander asked, confused at seeing the table clear, and the watcher lounging in a chair.

One hand still holding his cup aloft, Giles lightly patted the solitary book lying on the table’s surface with the other.

“You found it!” Willow guessed. She grasped Xander’s arm with both hands, tugging excitedly. “He found it,” she told Xander needlessly. Her smile was infectious and the other two males grinned in response at her antics. After a moment, Giles coughed, sobering, leaning forward in his seat so that he could stand. 

“Indeed I have,” he told them both, setting his cup aside. He gestured to the book, opening it to the page he needed while continuing. “And, it’s a rather simple spell given the use of the Janus statue. No wonder Ethan was able to do it alone.”

“Giles, that’s great!” Willow squealed, then started babbling questions about when could they perform the spell, what was needed, and if she could help. Xander just looked down at his friend and smiled goofily. Buffy was coming home and they could finally put this mess behind them, get back to the usual Hellmouth horrors like apocalypses and such, rather than having to deal with Buffy being sucked back in time.

“Yes.” Giles smiled for a moment more before his face became serious. “Willow, I’m going to need something of Buffy’s. Are you able to get inside her home?”

The redhead nodded. “Sure. Buffy keeps a spare key with me. Ya know, just in case…”

“Good. Xander, see if you can locate Angel. When I bring Buffy back, I’ll have no idea as to her condition, and whether or not Spike will be brought back with her. I think it’s best to be safe. Both of you meet me at the warehouse Buffy disappeared from in two hours. I need to gather a few things from home and make a stop by the local magic shop as well.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be opening shortly.”

“Come on, Xan,” Willow urged, still tugging on the boy’s arm in excitement. “You can walk me home before looking for Angel.”

Xander grumbled under his breath about not being able to find the vampire during daylight hours, but he would give it a shot. Like Giles had said, they might need the tall, broody one.

~*~*~*~*~

Giles found that both his hands were shaking as he set everything up in preparation of bringing Buffy back from the past. He’d had Willow and Xander remain near the back wall by the opened door, just in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Angel, surprisingly, had shown of his own accord, giving no reason behind his sudden appearance. He’d met them near the shaded entrance to the warehouse, and a glance over the other’s shoulder had revealed to Giles the sewer grate that had been shoved aside from where he’d most likely appeared. 

Now the brooding vampire stood pacing back and forth several feet behind him. Strange, actually. Angel was never one to display any unnecessary movements, more content to stand unmoving when others were about.

“Will you stop that incessant pacing?” Giles finally snapped in irritation. “I’m trying to concentrate.” He continued with his preparations, not bothering to turn around after he’d barked out his command. When he was finished placing everything just so, he grabbed his book, using his thumb to skim the pages until it opened to the marked spot. Kneeling down before the chalked circle, he began to chant the text written on the page. He concentrated on only that, repeating the lines over and over without relent. 

The wind came out of nowhere, creating a vortex near the crate where Buffy had disappeared. When it was gone, two prone figures lay in front of it. It was Buffy, at least he assumed it was his slayer in the long plaid, her blonde hair in one single plait down her back. The other person had to be Spike, although with his head turned away it was hard to tell. His attention turned back to Buffy and his ears perked; she was mumbling something.

“Dear Lord! Is that Gaelic?” Giles stammered, flabbergasted when her words became less garbled.

There was a blur of movement as Angel raced around him and knelt down at Buffy’s side.

“Bastard’s bit her,” Angel growled, and he stepped over the semi-unconscious Slayer to pick up his errant grandchilde and throw him into a far wall and as far away from Buffy as he could. Growling erupted throughout the warehouse and caused Angel to stiffen in surprise – he’d been unaware that anyone, or anything, lurked in the darkened corners. The other three just looked at each other in confusion at the sudden noise.

“Giles, take Willow and Xander and get the hell out of here and into the sunlight!” Angel ordered, turning in a circle to try and determine where they hid.

“Angel—”

“Just do it! I don’t have time to explain. Now _go_!”

As the others ran from the warehouse, Angel carefully stepped in front of Buffy, determined to save her from this latest threat. The growling seemed to intensify, and he tensed in preparation of an attack – though from where, he was unsure. He eyed the distance to the door and wondered fleetingly if he’d have enough time to snatch Buffy up in his arms and make it there before he was descended upon by an indeterminable number of vampires.

Groggy mutterings from Spike drew his attention, and he glanced over to see him rise unsteadily to his feet. He spoke again, this time more authoritatively – but in a language Angel failed to recognize – and the noise abruptly ceased. Seeing his chance, Angel reached down and lifted Buffy into his arms and bolted for the safety of the door. Outside the warehouse, he singed his hands passing Buffy off to Giles, since the watcher happened to be standing in direct sunlight, and his demon made itself known as he vamped and hissed in agony.

“Go!” he growled, snatching his hands back from the sun’s deadly rays.

“Angel, what is it?” Giles asked.

“I don’t _know_. But whatever it is, you’re not safe here.” At the watcher’s wary look, he shook his head, and fangs and ridges melded away. “Look… take Buffy home, or wherever. Just get into sunlight and away from here. Hurry! I’ll meet you back at the school after I take a look around.”

Angel leaned back against the brick building and waited until the four were gone from sight. Only then did he venture back inside the abandoned warehouse.

It was deserted. He knew it right off, but took a quick circuit just to be sure. Even Spike had disappeared. The only proof that both he and Buffy were back, the pink pig lying on its side within the chalked circle, a few herbs and other ingredients also placed strategically within the sphere.

Shaking off his unease, he walked back out to the manhole, careful to remain in the shadows, and jumped down into the sewers. Bringing forth his demon, he could detect nothing amiss in either direction, and resigned, started off towards the high school.

~*~*~*~*~

Giles glanced in the rearview mirror as he sped away from the warehouse to see Xander looking down at Buffy with concern, her head resting on his lap. He snatched the handkerchief out of his pocket and waved it at the boy. “Here, use this to stem the blood flow. The bite marks didn’t look too deep, but it’s probably going to leave a scar.”

Xander grabbed the white cloth out of Giles’ hand and pressed it against the wound in Buffy’s neck, silently vowing to get even with the vampire that had bitten his friend. He saw her wince in her sleep and lessened the pressure just a bit, not wanting to cause her further pain.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy heard the loud noise, felt the vibrating seat beneath her body, and struggled not to panic. She lay there unmoving to prevent the others from guessing she’d woken. Their hushed whisperings sounded vaguely familiar and she concentrated on their words and mentally clicked over to translating their conversation; it had been a long while since she’d heard strictly English spoken so that they’d nearly finished before she got the gist of what they were saying.

They’d brought her back, and she was riding in Giles’ car. They were going to take her home to let her rest and then go back to the school and talk with Angel. 

The car finally stopped after several minutes, and as the engine shut off, Buffy managed to lift her head from Xander’s lap and sit up. She opened her mouth to speak and clamped it shut again after the first word. _‘English, Buffy, English,’_ she silently admonished. Clearing her throat, she started again.

“Hello.” It came out more like a rasp, as if her mouth had been sucked dry and shoved full of sand.

“Buffy! You’re awake!” Willow gasped in surprise, swiveling around in the front seat to face her friend. “We were so _worried_!”

“I am… fine,” she replied haltingly, concentrating on her grammar. “Just… just tired. Maybe some sleep? I… I mean, I will feel better after I sleep.”

“Oh. Oh… we can do that. Here…” Willow opened her door and climbed out of the front seat to open the back one, allowing Buffy to step out of Giles’ car. Xander had already gotten out on his side and had come around to stand next to Willow. 

Buffy took a tentative step out of the vehicle and would have collapsed if Xander hadn’t caught her. Her body was still dealing with the aftereffects of the spell that had been cast, and she was feeling rather weak.

“Easy there, Buffster. Here. Lemme help you.” Without waiting for an affirmative, he wrapped one of her arms around his shoulders and hefted her close to his side. Buffy struggled not to flinch at his touch and forced herself to lean against him as he walked with her towards the front door.

“I don’t know, Giles. I think one of us should stay here and keep an eye on Buffy,” Willow spoke quietly to the man as the two trailed behind.

“No!” Buffy stopped abruptly, dragging Xander to a halt beside her. She glanced over her shoulder to see the girl looking at her with a slightly wounded look. “I… that is… I just need to rest. I will be fine. Besides, my mother should be here soon, is that not so?” She hoped that was a valid excuse.

“Yes, I think sleep for all of us might be the most beneficial,” Giles agreed, eyeing his charge carefully. Something about the way she spoke seemed off somehow. “Willow, why don’t you see that Buffy makes it upstairs and into bed.”

Willow bobbed her head, eager to feel useful, and darted around the pair in front of her to open the door using the key Buffy had given to her for safekeeping. Buffy wondered if she’d ever seemed that young and carefree as she watched the redheaded girl let herself in then race up the stairs to open her bedroom door. Xander did most of the work getting her up the stairs, and for once, she was grateful for someone’s assistance. She probably would have collapsed on the couch if it had been just her.

“You sure you’re going to be alright?” Willow asked, her faced etched with concern when Buffy pulled back the covers and climbed into bed fully dressed; Xander had gone back downstairs to wait with Giles once seeing Buffy to her room. “Don’t you want to get out of those clothes and into some pajamas?”

“No!” Again her denial came out more forceful than intended, and Buffy struggled not to cave from the wounded expression she was getting from the girl. _‘Just leave already!’_ “I… the cloth is warm, and I am a mite chilled.”

“Oh… ok. Well, you get some rest. We’ll see you in school tomorrow, or maybe not after the whole time travel thing and yeah, babbling now. Sorry. Just sleep, and we’ll see you later.”

“Sleep. Yes. Sleep,” she murmured softly, laying her head back against the pillows and closing her eyes. A moment later she heard her bedroom door shut and then the front door, too, as her friends and watcher let themselves out. 

“Spike,” she whimpered softly, drifting back to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike was determined to walk under his own power through the sewer tunnels, but near the end of their journey his legs finally gave out, his body still subject to the magicks that had returned him and the Slayer to this time. Joseph was walking beside him and easily caught him, sliding Spike’s arm around his shoulder. He’d not wanted to leave Buffy behind, but felt it was best to retreat for now; he couldn’t afford to have his childer’s presence revealed. Besides which, he knew where his wife’s mates were taking her, and it was a simple matter of waiting until nightfall before he was reunited with the Slayer, and they could disappear once more. He’d been more concerned with getting away from Angel… him _and_ the others.

“Thanks, mate,” Spike muttered.

Joseph grinned but didn’t say anything. In fact, none of them did. Not until they could be assured their words would not be overheard – no matter that anyone who might be listening most likely wouldn’t understand a word of what they were saying. They were just being cautious. A point ingrained over the years.

When they did manage to seal themselves inside their temporary home, each one of them waited for the question they all knew was forthcoming from their sire. Especially given that the vampire knew his wife’s whereabouts, and could actually see her sleeping soundly on one of the many screens dominating an entire wall in the room. Sure enough, the bolt slid home, and Spike took in the vampires present. The next words out of his mouth caused a few of the assembled to cringe.

“Where’s Renee?” 

“She… uh… she’s…” Clayton began.

“New York,” Adam answered, bringing Spike’s piercing gaze swiveling in his direction. He quirked his scarred brow, indicating the other should continue. 

Beside Adam, Byron muttered, “Woman needs a mate.” 

“And I suppose you don’t,” Esme commented from another part of the room.

“I’m just saying… Renee is different.” Byron gestured vaguely with his hand. “She… after Buffy disappeared so suddenly it was too much for her. She needed time.”

“And you didn’t get her before coming here?” Spike asked Byron, ignoring the fact that his childer were talking around him.

“No,” Adam answered for the flustered vamp. “Byron’s right, Spike. Renee… she’s looking for something. When she finds it, she’ll be along.”

Spike nodded, though he was not pleased. He didn’t like the thought of one of his own out there alone. He wanted to say something else, but thought better of it. The others were all still here, so apparently things weren’t that dire. And, knowing Adam like he did, the other vamp was probably keeping tabs on his missing childe. 

“Either that, or my wife will get her,” he finally allowed.

“Yeah. Or that.” Adam chuckled, and so did a few of the others, pleased at how well their sire was taking Renee’s absence. Then he sobered again, telling Spike, “She’s had a rough time of it. She took both of your abrupt disappearances rather hard. Buffy’s especially.” 

Marcus walked up then, clapping Spike on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Sire.”

Spike took the change of subject in stride. “Yeah, well, I can’t say I’m glad to be back,” he told the other at his side, wrinkling his nose at the remembered smell of the sewer. “Was much cleaner back then… and quieter. Bloody hell, I forgot how noisy it is.”

The others grinned at Spike’s complaint. They’d had time to get used to technology’s growth. Spike had gone from the wide-open spaces of the Highlands to the rank smells of sewage and pollution in the blink of an eye. 

“Tell me somebody thought to get me a change of clothes,” Spike asked of no one in particular. He fingered the knee-length plaid, taking in the others’ more casual attire.

“Already waiting for you in the bathroom,” Esme told him, adding, “Down the hall, second door on your right.”

“Thanks, love.” He caressed her check affectionately, adding, “Gimme five. I’ll get cleaned up and then you can report what’s been going on in my absence.”

Spike ended up taking ten minutes, having forgotten the luxury of scalding hot water pounding on his flesh. When he emerged, he quickly donned the black t-shirt and jeans left for him then sat on the toilet seat to pull on his socks and boots – not quite what he used to wear, but it would do for now. He did, however, miss his leather duster, but figured it was long gone. The last time he’d seen it was when Doyle had nicked his clothes and smokes and left him in that poncified outfit, and he smiled at the distant memory. Throwing the damp towel over a rack, he left the room and strode swiftly back to the observation area.

When he stepped into the room, it was a signal to the others to gather around the table. Adam started off the briefing, pointing out the various monitors and several listening devices that were recording conversations. Afterwards, the others went down the line giving their assessments, and when Joseph mention Angel visiting Drusilla last night, Spike raised an eyebrow, but gave no further indication that the news bothered him. Finally, Alric spoke, and he discussed the general overview of the Hellmouth, and the goings on of the various demons residing in the city.

Not more remarkable than any other Hellmouth, and certainly nothing more than they’d witnessed before – human or demon-wise. Sunnydale was actually a breath of fresh air after some of the things they’d all seen.

“We do have a possible situation though, Sire,” Alric hesitated to add. “There’s a new slayer in town.”

“A new Slayer? How can that be possible?”

“I’m not quite sure, but I know what I saw, and what I felt. She’s a slayer. Fairly green around the gills, if you get what I’m saying. Not even a year into the gig.”

“Well, stay away from her. Just as soon as we can get Buffy back we’ll disappear and she can have the run of this place.” He broke off, his eyes suddenly zeroing in on one of the monitors.

Buffy’s watcher, her two friends, and his poof of a grandsire were talking about the Slayer’s reemergence from the past while they either sat or stood inside the school’s library. But, it was the dark-skinned girl calmly walking down the hallway in a second monitor that held Spike’s attention. His gaze narrowed on the newcomer, cataloguing her movements for any flaws.

“Give me some volume.”

Adam hit a button and the conversation in the library got louder.

“…just disappeared. And so did the others,” Angel was saying.

The doors swung open and conversation ceased, four sets of eyes taking in the newcomer standing inside the door.

“Oh… the library is closed today, er…Miss….”

“Don’t look closed t’ me,” the girl announced, nodding her head in their general direction, her heavily accented voice difficult to understand.

“Yes… well…”

“F-faculty-student meeting,” Willow improvised, blurting out an answer in the sudden silence.

“Right! Yes. Very good. We’re in the middle of a faculty-student meeting,” Giles elaborated.

The girl just stood there, folding her arms across her chest while she regarded the small group.

“W-was there something you needed?” Giles asked, when she made no move to leave the room.

“I was sent to Sunnydale to meet with you.”

“I say… meet me?” Giles’ brow knitted in confusion. “Who… ah… who sent you…?”

“My watcher.”

“Watcher?”

“I’m Kendra, the Vampire Slayer,” she announced.

Spike watched as Angel took a step back and nearly fell over a chair; he couldn’t help it, he started laughing.


	55. Chapter 55

Buffy woke barely an hour later. After having spent the last seventy-five years either snuggled next to Spike, or in close proximity to the others of her clan, being so far away from the group made it impossible for her to sleep for very long. If it hadn’t been for the spell that had brought her back and rendered her so weak, she would have sought them out as soon as the others had left her mother’s home. Even now, she was still groggy, but there was no way she was going to remain in the house without Spike by her side.

She slipped out of bed and stood, taking a moment for the dizziness to pass. Her hands moved automatically to fix the pleats in her plaid. Remembering the mirror, she moved cautiously towards it, taking tentative steps close by the bed to make sure her legs would support her weight. Her shuffling gait grew stronger as she crossed the room, adrenaline and slayer healing kicking in to try and fight off the lingering effects of the spell.

At the mirror, her eyes ran critically over her appearance. Not that Spike would care that her hair had come loose from her solitary braid while she’d slept, but a bit of vanity reared its ugly head, and she undid the scrap of leather and quickly righted the mess. Satisfied with her appearance as much as she could be, Buffy turned away and left her bedroom.

Once outside her home, she hurried as much as possible to the nearest manhole she determined wouldn’t draw anyone’s notice and easily lifted the cover off and climbed down the ladder. She had no idea where she was going, but figured the others would be able to find her faster this way. Wrinkling her nose at the god-awful stench, she sloshed through the knee-deep sludge and prayed that the others would hurry.

~*~*~*~*~

“Giles… I…” Angel gestured vaguely towards the exit.

“Yes, I think that would be best,” Giles told him, keeping one eye on the woman purporting to be the Slayer. A moment later he was gone, and the watcher breathed a sigh of relief at the averted crisis. He walked over to the girl eyeing her intently. “A slayer, you say?”

“That is what I said.” Her arms crossed over her chest defiantly.

“And your watcher told you to come here? To Sunnydale?”

“Yes.”

“Why, may I ask?”

“I know only that we were informed the Hellmouth was unguarded and Mr. Travers thought it best that I should come. He—”

“Quentin Travers sent you here?” Giles interrupted, incredulous. “That bloody bastard,” he added under his breath, quickly recovering his composure and commanding the girl to wait there. He crossed to the phone and punched in the number to the Watcher’s Council in London, uncaring of the time.

Willow and Xander watched in amazement as the normally reserved Englishman barked out that he wanted to be connected to the Head Watcher immediately. Silence reigned in the room until the audible sound of “Travers” being yelled could be heard from the headset.

Giles turned his back on the others and spoke.

“Rupert Giles here, Mr. Travers. It appears I’ve a woman claiming to be the slayer standing here in my library, and that she was sent by you. Remarkable really, given the fact that my slayer is at home in bed… And alive.” His sarcasm was unmistakable.

“Kendra was called when Buffy died briefly this past spring,” Travers explained without preamble. “We didn’t see fit to tell you because… well… we just didn’t.”

Giles bit back his retort at the man’s high-handedness. Travers always did let the power the position of Head Watcher gave him go to his head.

“What am I supposed to do with this second slayer? I’m hardly equipped—”

“You’ll do what is necessary until suitable accommodations can be made ready. Besides which, it won’t hurt having Kendra around to help oversee the Hellmouth. Maybe Miss Summers can learn a thing or two on how a slayer is supposed to comport herself.”

Travers rung off before Giles had a chance to retort, and he stood looking at the receiver as if it were an alien object for a moment before replacing it carefully in the handset. Masking the rage threatening to overtake him, he squared his shoulders and turned around.

“It would appear you’re to be a guest in my home,” he told the girl. She just stared at him with unblinking eyes and so he turned towards Willow and Xander, taking in the confusion on both their faces.

“Willow, Xander… you may as well go on home. I’ll see you both here at school tomorrow morning.”

“Oh… well, okay,” Willow stammered and grabbed Xander’s arm, shepherding him around the girl still standing in front of the door.

“Let me get my case and keys so I can lock up. Then I’ll take you to my flat,” Giles told Kendra, adding, “You can call your watcher from there and inform him of your safe arrival.”

~*~*~*~*~

The longer Buffy sloshed around in the murky waters of the city’s sewers, the more she was ready to burst into tears. She hated that she felt so tired, weak. She’d been walking blindly for what seemed like hours, praying that one of the others would be out keeping an eye on things and run across her. The ends of her dress were soaked and clung to her legs, making it that much more difficult to move, and the smell…

Her eyes watered at the disgusting odor, and she marveled at how vampires could wander around through the tunnels when their sense of smell was more sensitive than her own. Near the end of her rope, she tensed suddenly. Then let out a relieved sigh when she felt the approach of another. Her pace increased until she was running awkwardly in the knee-deep water, and as she rounded the corner, she threw herself into Alric’s arms.

“I knew you would find me,” she sobbed against his chest.

“Shhh… I’ve got you.” Alric swung Buffy up into his arms and started back towards the others waiting impatiently inside the building they’d converted into temporary living quarters.

Spike had wanted to be the one to retrieve his wife after watching the monitors and seeing Buffy leave her home, knowing she was going to try and find them, but nearly everyone had shouted a protest, claiming that he was still dealing with the lingering effects of the spell. Better for one of them to go after Buffy. Just in case they encountered something in the tunnels. Alric had already moved towards the exit when his sire had reluctantly granted one of them to leave to find Buffy – it was what he excelled at, and being in charge of overseeing the entire city, it gave him a slight edge over the others in his clan.

Buffy relaxed completely in his arms, trusting Alric to see her safely back to Spike and the others. Tucking her hands beneath her chin, she allowed her eyes to close.

They hadn’t gone far when she felt him stiffen suddenly; something else was approaching, and unfortunately, they had nowhere else to go. To retreat would alert the other because of the splashing, yet to stay there…

The indecision cost him, and a second later, running footsteps could be heard, getting closer and closer, until another vampire burst around the corner in front of them.

“Buffy!” Angel gasped in astonishment. He’d been walking in the sewer tunnels on the way back to his apartment from the school, when he’d caught a trace of Buffy’s scent and took off running. He ground to a halt at seeing her held easily in the arms of another vampire.

A vampire who let his demonic features burst forth at his approach, a warning growl rumbling low in his throat.

“Let her go!” Angel demanded, taking another step forward.

Buffy opened her eyes to see a vaguely familiar person – vampire – standing in front of her and Alric. Then she remembered. Angel. She chanced a glance up at Alric and knew better than to distract him; he was in the role of protector right now and wouldn’t listen to a thing she might say. No matter that the vampire barring their exit was distant family. She sat up and Alric easily accommodated the move, eyes still pinned on the threat in front of him.

“Put me down, Alric,” she told him softly. And although the words carried to Angel, he had no idea what she’d just said. He did, however, see the negative shake he gave Buffy, and how his grip tightened about her legs and lower back.

“I said, let her go.” Angel growled his own warning and a second later, charged forward.

In the blink of an eye, Buffy found herself on her feet and thrust behind Alric’s back, then the vampire stood ready to meet the oncoming threat. His hand reached automatically for the sword that was never far from his side, brandishing the blade as the other drew near.

“Don’t kill him,” Buffy cried, trying to blend in with the wall and stay out of Alric’s way. He didn’t answer her, but she saw his slight smirk and brief nod, and relaxed.

Angel drew up short at finding himself so quickly outmaneuvered. He held his arms wide as the blade pointed in his direction nearly came into contact with his chest. While the razor-sharp steel wouldn’t kill him outright unless aimed for his neck, any cut he might take would leave an indelible mark and cost him his chance of rescuing Buffy. Rather than move forward, closer to the vampire, Angel tried to circle around him to get to Buffy. But his opponent was smart, wise to his strategy, and shifted slightly so that he kept himself between Angel and Buffy, the sword still pointed threateningly in his direction. Like the vampire was trying to protect Buffy from _him_.

“Buffy?” Angel questioned softly when he didn’t see her try to escape. Something he’d only just now noticed.

“Go home, Angel,” Buffy told him, and at his confused look, she repeated it again. This time in English.

“You can’t actually mean to—”

A growl cut off Angel’s comment.

“He is… mine…”

She struggled with how to explain it to him, moving closer to Alric, but careful to remain behind him so that he had a clear view of Angel. Lifting her hand towards the blade, she drew her palm along the sharp edge, creating a line of crimson across the surface.

Angel nostrils flared as the smell of her blood hit the air, and he struggled to contain the demon lurking just beneath the surface.

Alric’s eyes never left his opponent as he took one hand off the hilt to draw Buffy close. He drew her hand up to his lips and licked at the blood pooling in her palm, until the self-inflicted wound closed over. The soft rumbling in his chest was automatic, the gift of Slayer’s blood precious whenever it was bestowed, calmed even his worst bloodlust.

It was this familiarity, this almost familial bonding, which caused Angel’s eyes to glitter in outrage.

“He is mine,” she whispered again in stilted English, leaning into Alric’s side and staring quietly at the tall, brooding vampire.

“No!” Angel bellowed. His anger got the best of him and he charged the pair.

Alric shoved Buffy out of the way and tensed in preparation of the other vampire’s attack. Angel was careless as his rage consumed him and Alric took advantage, easily dodging the fists that, had he been merely a fledge, he might not have avoided. But he wasn’t some freshly turned vampire. He’d been fighting for a long time and had learned from some of the best teachers in the last two hundred years.

In a few short moves, Angel was shoved face first up against the wall with the sword at his neck. A staying hand on Alric’s prevented the vampire from finishing it.

“Leave him,” Buffy told him. Her eyes beseeched him to let the vampire go. For them to just leave and hurry back to the others.

Alric stood there for a moment, staring at the back of the vampire that had threatened them. He leaned in, his blade nicking the flesh at the other’s neck.

“For Buffy,” he whispered. Then the blade was removed and he brought the hilt of his sword down on the vampire’s head.

When Angel roused himself a few minutes later, there was no sign of either the vampire or Buffy.

~*~*~*~*~

Alric wasn’t surprised to see Esme and Derrick standing at the bottom of the ladder that would put them near the entrance to their building. He’d been gone long enough to warrant the whole clan descending on him.

“Ran into a bit of trouble,” he told them as he neared.

“Spike’s not happy,” Esme warned. “When we left to come find you, he was barking at Adam for not having installed cameras in all of Sunnydale’s sewer tunnels.”

Alric glanced down at the Slayer in his arms. “Can you make it up the ladder?”

She nodded and he set her down, urging her up the steps. Once all four were back above ground and the cover had been fitted back over the manhole, Alric once more lifted Buffy into his arms and followed behind the other two towards the entrance. She didn’t protest, the magicks and subsequent confrontation with Angel had left her drained. All she wanted was to take a shower to wash away the stench pervading her body and curl up in bed with Spike, and perhaps sleep for a few days straight.


	56. Chapter 56

“Ran into a bit of trouble,” Alric murmured to Spike while transferring Buffy into his sire’s arms. “Sorry. Couldn’t be avoided.”

“Angelus,” Spike muttered, having caught the scent of the elder vampire on his childe. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Not too bright, your grandsire. Idiot tried to take me on even after I had my sword out and pointed straight at him.”

Spike snorted.

“I knocked him out and left him there.” At Spike’s quirked brow, he explained. “Just a little love tap. Enough to see us safely away. He’s probably already awake and gone by now.” He didn’t mention the fact that the Slayer hadn’t wanted him to dust the overbearing vampire. “Anyway… I’m sure Buffy is still dealing with the effects of the spell that brought you both back and would like to get cleaned up.” Alric refrained from wrinkling his nose at the foul odor staining both his and her clothes. The sewer tunnels, for all their smells and sludge, did afford their group daytime mobility. Besides, he’d smelled a lot worse over the years.

Spike nodded at Alric and glanced down at his wife. She’d barely moved after having been placed in his arms. The agitation he’d sensed permeating her body when the pair had first shown up subsided the moment the steel doors had slid shut, sealing them off from the outside world. The tension coiled tight within her petite frame melting away now that she knew she was safe. He couldn’t help but smile softly as she started to fall asleep nestled against his chest.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

She murmured something that sounded like an affirmative as she dozed, and Spike moved off, leaving the others to seek their own beds. He wasn’t surprised that the Slayer was too drained to even notice or question her friend’s absence.

~*~*~*~*~

“Why am I so tired?” Buffy complained plaintively to Spike while she stood unmoving beneath the hot spray, frowning because, unlike her, he seemed to have already gotten over his malaise.

“Your body bore the brunt of the spell. Stands to reason it’s gonna take you a bit longer to recover,” he explained, his hands continuing to lather her body with soap, running them over muscles a little too tense for his liking. _‘Bloody magicks,’_ he grumbled to himself.

Rather than chance Buffy getting hurt in her weakened state, he’d shed his clothes right along with her and climbed in the shower as well, telling himself that he was just going to get her washed up, then dried off and tucked into their bed. That she was too drained from her watcher’s spell to do anything more than curl up next to him and rest.

Just thinking about the spell caused his hands to tighten about the Slayer’s arms. His eyes sought the latest insult to the pale flesh of her neck. The set of marks he’d given her were jagged and would take a bit longer to heal than usual, but finesse had been the furthest thing from his mind once she’d started to weave at the dinner table, rising unsteadily to her feet and using both hands to clutch at her temples in pain. He’d panicked as her complexion had gone paler than normal, the plaintive mewl forced out through pursed lips something he could do without hearing for another hundred years. Something had triggered in his mind then, the reason behind his disappearance along with her own, and he’d had only a few seconds to lunge towards her neck and bite deep before they’d both been sucked into some type of vortex and disappeared. The bursting kaleidoscope of colors that had happened next was blinding in their intensity, causing both Buffy and Spike to pass out. Coming to on the cold, cement floor inside the warehouse that had started it all.

Spike could only imagine what his childer had gone through at their abrupt departure from the dining hall of their Scotland estate. The sense of loss they’d felt. The last thing he’d seen before his fangs had latched onto the Slayer’s throat was the concerned gazes of each member of his clan staring fixatedly at Buffy.

When the group had made the Highlands their latest home, almost fifty years had passed since that fateful night on the open seas. Fifty years that had created a false sense of security amongst the clan. As the years had passed with no sign from the Powers as to their return to the future, Spike had thought he and Buffy were meant to stay in the past with the others. Drifting from country to country, maintaining the balance.

In the beginning – just after they’d taken control of the pirate ship, in fact – both he and the Slayer had taken great pains to tell the clan all that they could remember about Sunnydale. Even going so far as to write everything down in a journal to have some record of it, if need be. As the years became decades, countries and languages started to blur, and Sunnydale, along with everyone in it, became a distant memory.

Now, as he stepped beneath the spray, washing off the artificially scented soap from his and the Slayer’s body, he couldn’t help but grieve for what they’d lost. For what they’d been brought back to. Neither he nor Buffy needed the reminders of what they’d left behind. They’d forged a new life in the past, and being dragged back now? Well, it was going to force both of them to deal with things that were long since dead and buried in their minds.

Not liking the direction of his thoughts, Spike spun the Slayer around and pinned her against the wall. She was his. And nothing, or no one, was going to change that.

He growled possessively; one hand grasped her thigh and dragged it up along his leg so that she could grip his waist. The sleepy look left her eyes, and her pink tongue darted out to trace her lips in anticipation. It surprised him sometimes, the way she looked at him. Whether he reached for her, or vice versa. Her eyes would lighten for a split second, then darken perceptively as desire – never very far from the surface – took hold. She’d stare at him like she was doing right now, as if she wasn’t complete unless he was filling her, arms and legs entwined while their bodies moved together to reach the pinnacle of pleasure. And the look of love she bestowed upon him in the aftermath of their mutual desire, the way she curled up next to his body, murmuring her love for him, filled him with such peace.

Spike gasped a muffled oath that could have been her name when her hand suddenly closed around his shaft and started pumping it from base to tip and back again. Not that he’d needed any further stimulus. His cock had been rock hard from the moment she’d slipped out of her dress and stepped beneath the shower spray, the water having instantly drenched her hair and then sliding in rivulets down her breasts, belly, and beyond.

His eyes closed, and he gave himself over to the pleasure of her touch. The sensation, something close to nirvana, as one hand worked his length while the other reached down to fondle his balls. Rolling them. Testing their weight. Slowly driving him out of his mind. He needed to be inside her. Filling her. Possessing her. Claiming her. 

He needed…

“Fuck me, Spike. Make me yours again.” She bit his earlobe after voicing that demand, her body reacting to the sense of urgency she felt in him. His need to reaffirm their bond, their commitment to one another, in the uncertainty of being brought back.

Yeah. That’s what he needed. Taking what she so freely offered.

Spike braced himself to take her weight, then gripped her other thigh and lifted her off the ground. He spread her legs wide and shifted closer, nudging her core with the head of his cock.

“Ready for me, Slayer?” he growled, and when Buffy looked up at his face, her eyes softened for a second at seeing amber eyes gazing down at her, uncertainty mixed with a need to dominate – his demon desperate to demonstrate its ownership.

Buffy didn’t answer, just tilted her head to the side and bared her neck to his gaze, showing her husband without words to whom she belonged. Her legs tightened about his waist, drawing him closer, and a second later he’d rammed his way home, the force of his entry driving her back against the tiles – forcing a gasp from her. His grip on her was punishing, his deep thrusts bordering on painful, but she wasn’t going to stop him. Knowing that he needed this. Her complete submission in the face of this new, uncertain reality. That she was his one constant.

She heard his possessive growl and a second later his fangs had sliced into her throat, and then he was drawing deeply. Huge gulps of her blood that struck a chord deep within her pussy. Driving her closer to climax.

Spike snarled against her throat as her muscles contracted around his length. Combined with the taste of her blood, he was soon roaring his release.

“Mine!” he growled around her throat, to which she could do nothing but nod in supplication.

His demon finally appeased by her acquiescence to his claim, Buffy felt him shudder against her, having managed to gain control. Yet, he refused to lift his head from where it was buried against her neck after having retracted his fangs and licking the wound closed.

“Sorry, love,” he managed to whisper against her throat after a time, unable to look at her in the aftermath of his brutal possession.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Spike.” Her fingers threaded in his hair, drawing his head back and forcing him to look at her. He stared down at her, eyes full of remorse, their bodies still intimately joined. “I love you.” She caressed the ridges on his brow, smiling at the way he leaned into the touch, his chest rumbling softly in appreciation. A sound she never got tired of hearing.

The water grew cold and Spike reluctantly pulled away, turning off the water, much to Buffy’s disappointment. She allowed him to help her from the shower and bundle her up in a towel, sighing happily, if somewhat longingly, when he easily lifted her in his arms and made for their room.

After he’d tucked her into bed, Buffy was set to curl up against his side and sleep, but her husband seemed to have other plans. Diving beneath the covers with the comment he had something to see to. A second later, she felt his hands on her thighs, then the cool touch of his tongue tempting her nether regions.

And she gave silent thanks that Spike wasn’t one to leave a lady hanging.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel snarled as he paced back and forth in his living room, waiting for the sun to set. He’d debated returning to Drusilla’s side to try and glean more information from his crazed childe. She had, after all, been correct in guiding him back to the warehouse in time for Spike and Buffy’s reappearance. Her incoherent babblings about returning to the place had taken him a while to decipher, but the moment she’d started talking about light and where it all began, he’d known. But even his childe’s special ability to “talk to the stars,” as she was wont to call it, wouldn’t keep him from tearing her head from her shoulders in his frustration over the situation with Buffy. Just seeing how she’d rested so comfortably in the arms of a killer was shocking enough, but for her to claim another as her own?

Jealousy and rage were fighting for equal dominance of his emotions.

Never mind the fact of how easily he’d been beaten by the younger-looking vampire.

True, it had been stupid to attempt to take him on when he’d already been holding a weapon, pointed towards the ground, yet no less threatening. But his rage and astonishment had prevented him from realizing his age. That the vampire was a master in his own right, and not one of the numerous fledglings flooding the Hellmouth. His thoughts to disarm the bastard had met with an embarrassingly easy dressing down on his part.

Another thing to add to his list of grievances.

He stilled suddenly as the weight of the situation hit him. They had a new player on the Hellmouth, one obviously involved in some way with the Slayer.

He had to get to Buffy’s watcher. And fast.

~*~*~*~*~

With a snort of disgust, Giles pushed away the book he was reading. He’d been staring at the same page for so long that the print had started to blur. He didn’t know why he was bothering with Vampyric History, A Watcher’s Tale, but put it down to trying to make a better impression on the newest Slayer. After all, watchers researched.

But his mind wasn’t on his task. No, his thoughts were consumed with his own slayer, not the one making use of his spare bed upstairs. Something in Buffy’s manner wasn’t sitting well with him. It wasn’t anything specific she’d said, discounting the foreign sounding mumblings when she’d first reappeared, sprawled on the warehouse floor. Rather, it was the way in which she spoke that had him stumped. Her lack of teenaged colloquialisms and slang that was so much the norm in her conversations.

The tea he’d been drinking suddenly wasn’t strong enough libation for his contemplations, and he stood up from the small table and crossed to the kitchen to pour himself a healthy dose of whisky. This he knocked backed in one gulp, then poured himself another, sipping at it more leisurely as was intended with fine liquor. With one hand firmly around his snifter, he used the other to take his glasses off, unconsciously sticking one of the ends of the frame in his mouth as he silently ruminated about his slayer’s condition.

As he paced about the lower levels of his apartment, he went over every aspect of his encounter with Buffy. From the moment she’d reappeared, up until he and the two children had departed her mother’s home. Every word, every gesture, was fodder for his silent deliberation.

The sun dipped on the horizon, not that he noticed, as he replayed each event over and over.

Two things stuck out in his mind. The first was that Buffy had, indeed, seemed to almost struggle with speaking. The second, and he’d only just now realized it, was that she seemed almost stiff in their presence, like she wasn’t exactly sure of her place with them.

Giles drew up short, went to take another swig of his drink, and realized that it was empty. He started towards the kitchen to add another two fingers to his glass, but the sudden pounding on his door diverted his attention. Replacing the spectacles on his nose, he started for his front door, placing his empty glass on the table along the way.

The pounding continued; someone was obviously very intent on seeing him, and his pace increased to reach the front portal before it could be knocked off its hinges.

When he opened the door, he drew back in surprise. Angel was standing there, and he looked none too pleased.

“Angel? What—?”

“It’s Buffy,” the brooding vampire interrupted, indicating with a tilt of his head, a desire to be let inside.

“What…? Oh… do come in…” Giles stepped back out of the doorway to allow Angel to enter.

~*~*~*~*~

“Well, that didn’t take long.” Adam eyed the TV monitor that showed the watcher’s front door. He stood up from his chair and moved off towards the bedrooms. It was time to rouse the others and plan their strategy.


	57. Chapter 57

Buffy and Spike were the last to arrive in the meeting room, Buffy a step or two in front of her husband as they walked down the short hall leading from their bedroom. Therefore, everyone seated at the table got a good look at her face when she stepped into the room and a quick glance around revealed the lack of her closest friend present.

“Buffy—” Marcus began, already rising to his feet at her stricken expression.

Spike was faster, though he could have kicked himself for not remembering to tell her before now. But after seeing to his wife’s needs, the two had fallen into a restorative slumber, sleeping away the remainder of the daylight hours. Then Adam had woken them with news of Angel’s arrival at the watcher’s house, and both had hurriedly dressed so the group could figure out what they were going to do.

Gripping her shoulders tight before her emotions could get the best of her, he leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “Close your eyes, love, and concentrate. She’s still here.”

Buffy forced herself to do as he asked, breathing deeply to will away the instant anguish, the rising anger, the need for revenge at her friend’s dusting – Renee’s absence having made her think the worst. Her senses sharpened until only… _there_! Faint, but blood didn’t lie. She _was_ still alive.

“Where?” she whispered, relieved beyond words.

“New York,” Spike answered immediately.

The adrenaline that had been building within her, left her body in a rush, and she nodded, sagging against his sturdy embrace for a moment. Whatever had happened to cause her friend not to be with the others, the clan wouldn’t have let her just disappear without a trace.

“Slayer, I don’t think now’s—”

She pulled away and turned around, staring hard at her husband. “I’m going.”

Spike had every intention of seeing Renee brought back. He knew firsthand what Renee meant to his wife. If it hadn’t been for this latest development with his grandsire, he would have told everyone to be ready to leave inside the hour. That they were putting Sunnydale behind them. Unfortunately, Angel’s knowledge of the connection between Buffy and one of his childer wasn’t something that could be left unresolved.

“Sire.”

Adam’s voice broke into his and the Slayer’s silent battle of wills. Spike looked away, frowning at the vamp for interrupting him. Adam just gestured to the monitors.

“Bloody hell…” Now they _really_ couldn’t leave. He turned back to see his wife, arms crossed over her chest, one brow arched in a good imitation of him. Demanding to get her way in this.

“Fine. You’ve got twenty-four hours,” he told her. Knowing there was no way in hell he could prevent her from going, his voice was unnaturally gruff. “And take someone with you.” He ignored Buffy’s quick grin, before she masked it and looked contrite, turning back towards Adam. “I assume you’ve got secure transportation for my wife?”

Adam nodded.

Angelina nudged Marcus. “Go with Buffy,” she told him, but loud enough for the others to hear.

He drew his mate close, nuzzling her cheek, then glanced over at his sire to see him give his assent.

“Twenty-four hours, Marcus. Not a minute more. Alric, you’ll go with them to the airport and make sure they’re not seen or followed. Everyone else… stay put. I’ve got an old friend to see.”

~*~*~*~*~

Doyle grumbled under his breath, bringing his car to a halt near the watcher’s house. Damn thing had crapped out on him on a deserted stretch of road, and if it hadn’t been for a semi driving in his direction, he would have missed arriving in Sunnydale on time. As it was, he knew the shit had already started to hit the fan.

After killing the engine, he climbed out of the relic and slammed the door shut – not because he wanted to, but because it took that much force to get it closed – wincing at the overly loud noise. As he passed by the rear of the vehicle, he gave it a kick, then instantly regretted it, comically hopping about on one leg at the sudden burst of pain that shot up his foot. A stream of curses lit the air, directed towards himself and the inanimate object at the root of his suffering. When he’d worked his way through two languages worth of swear words, he directed his gaze upward and started over.

It was _their_ fault he was in this mess. It wasn’t like they couldn’t just zap him, or beam him, or whatever the hell it was they did to him every other time they wanted him somewhere. No, they were probably sitting on their collective asses in some cloud, laughing over his latest predicament. Stupid Powers. What was it that Spike called them? Powers That Fuck With Me?

His friend had the right of it.

The throbbing in his foot finally subsided enough for him to climb the curb and limp his way towards the watcher’s front door. On the doorstep, he hesitated, turning around and peering intently into the distance. Something was out there, watching him; he was sure of it. But when he inhaled deeply to figure out what it was, nothing came back to him except the light scent from the few shrubs that made up the apartment complex’s landscaping. That, and the trail Angel had left.

_Angel’s_ arrival was a plus, at least. Two for the price of one, so to speak. Definitely beat repeating the same story at a later date. Maybe with the watcher present, the perpetually brooding vampire, as the Powers were secretly wont to call him, might actually listen. Unlike Spike, who eventually believed what Doyle told him – even if most of the times it was after a good shouting match – Angel would no doubt need a little bit more in the way of proof. _‘Too bad a two-by-four to the forehead wouldn’t work,’_ he thought. Unfortunately, the truth would just open up a whole other can of worms.

So, yeah, a bit of assistance would be nice right about now…

Like usual, though, the damn Powers were silent. Assholes. Nothing like letting a bloke flounder.

Shaking off his unease, he faced the door and gave it a few good raps with his knuckles. The muted conversation he was able to hear halted abruptly at his interruption, and a moment later the door swung open.

Doyle rolled his eyes as the watcher went on instant alert, his body visibly stiffening while his hand reached behind him trying to fumble about for something. A weapon maybe. Or some type of ward. Not that a ward would actually _keep_ him out. Definitely one of the perks of being the Powers little play toy.

“None of that is necessary, I assure you,” Doyle rushed to explain, his dry, accented tone causing the older man to pause momentarily in his search at having been found out. “May be half demon, but I’ve got a higher calling.”

“You’ll forgive me if I find that rather hard to believe,” Giles drolled back, eyes never leaving the man – demon – in front of him. He did, however, stop trying to grab at the stake lying on the accent table near the door. He knew the creature standing on his front doorstep wasn’t completely human, but didn’t know for certainty whether or not it had the same invite clause as vampires, and didn’t want his ignorance to get him killed.

“Look, it’s not like I’m a card carrying member or anything, but I can tell you this, Rupert Giles, formerly of London, England, and watcher to one Buffy Summers, of the ‘Chosen’ variety… what I have to say concerns both you and the vampire currently hiding behind your front door.”

“How—?”

“It’s a gift. No… really, it’s not. I told you, well, maybe I didn’t, now that I come to think of it. Look. I work for the ‘Powers That Be’. I’m an emissary of sorts. Usually, it’s just visions of the skull-splitting variety, but after that stunt your associate pulled…”

“Powers that Be? Associate?”

“You know, a higher power? Infinite beings of wisdom and power that watch every day on Earth play out like some chess game? And I’d be referring to Ethan Rayne.”

“Oh.” That brought Giles up short. But he quickly explained away his acquaintance with the warlock. “Ethan, as I’m sure you’re well aware, is a former associate. You know about what he did, though? To Buffy?” Even as he voiced his question, he could have kicked himself. Of course the man would have known.

“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Can I come in please? It’s been a long drive.”

“They’re not feeling quite so charitable at the moment.” Doyle grumbled. “Which is why I’m not in a particularly good mood. Not to mention my foot’s throbbing like a son of a bitch. So, are you gonna make me stand out here all night, or do I get to come in? Lots of Big Bads out here that can come along at any moment and eat me before I have a chance to spill the beans, as it were.”

Giles opened the door a bit wider and stepped back, indicating his assent, if not actually voicing the words that would grant the demon entry.

“Doesn’t work on me,” Doyle informed him at the lack of verbal invite. “Was just being polite, is all.”

“Oh.”

Doyle had to hand it to the watcher, he recovered well, calmly informing him in a no-nonsense manner how adept he was with the various weapons stashed about his flat. And his lack of hesitation in using them against someone of his _persuasion_. Not to mention his bodyguard, of sorts, in the brooding vampire, who stood leaning against a bookcase, arms akimbo, doing his best to stare Doyle down. Like a souled up version was going to scare him.

_Shyeah…_

He rolled his eyes at Angel, clearly unimpressed with his posturing. But, hell, after arguing with Spike as often as he had, and living to tell the tale, Doyle didn’t think _anything_ could scare the spikes into appearing on his face.

“So, what’s this all-important news you wished to impart to both myself and Angel,” Giles demanded after closing the front door and directing Doyle to the apartment’s living space, gesturing for him to sit in one of the empty chairs.

“Dropped the ‘us’, now, did you?” Doyle asked, looking squarely at Angel as he sat down. “Think that makes a difference? You’re still him, you know, changing your name ain’t gonna change who you are.”

Angel growled at him, but, Doyle being Doyle, refused to be cowed. Instead, his smile grew wide, unknowingly reminiscent of Spike’s in the face of Angel’s ire.

“Just saying,” the half-breed added. “No need to take offense, _Angel_.”

“Why don’t you just get to the point, _demon_ ,” Angel snarled back.

“Oooohhh, look at you with the big insultin’ words. And, for the record, it’s only _half_ demon. Me mum’s human.”

“Really?” Giles interjected, oblivious to the undercurrents between the two.

The surprise in the older man’s voice caused Doyle to turn away from Angel and stare for a moment in shock, before shaking his head in wonder at the watcher’s ignorance.

“Yes, really. God, almighty, some demons _do_ actually coexist peacefully with humans. Need to pull your head out of your arse, watcher. Quit relying on the tried and true of the Council of Wankers. They’re just men, and corruptible ones at that.” Doyle gave the man a pointed look, informing the other that he was well aware of the Council’s history, and the less-than-stellar way they’ve dealt with some of their slayers in the past.

Giles blinked owlishly. His mouth opened and closed, imitating that of a fish for a moment, then finally closed for good – without refuting anything Doyle had said. He ignored Doyle’s implied meaning about some of the Council’s former administrations, concentrating instead on what he actually had said. Was it _really_ possible for certain demons and humans to live together? The concept fairly boggled the mind. And, if it were really true, it would negate everything he’d ever learned about demons and their habits. Everything the Council had instilled in him.

“Look. I don’t mean to sound like a sanctimonious prick. It’s just been a long day, and well, you wouldn’t happen to have a beer or something would ya?” Doyle asked, turning on the charm and praying the man had some of the good stuff, rather than the watered down piss he was often forced to drink to quench his thirst. The watcher left the room, and when he finally came back, Doyle had to refrain from licking his lips when a bottle of Guinness was presented to him.

“Cheers.” Doyle tipped the bottle in Giles’ direction and took a healthy swig of the dark stout. “Name’s Doyle, by the way.”

“You were getting to the part about telling us something,” Angel interrupted.

“Right… yeah, about that.” His eyes fixed on the watcher, telling him, “Forget about Buffy. She is lost to you. Kendra’s the Chosen One now.” Then he turned to vampire and asked conversationally, “Have you ever thought about living in Los Angeles? Name like yours, you’d fit right in.”

He intentionally left out mentioning Spike, hoping neither man – well, one man and one demon – before him wouldn’t bring up the vampire, or the situation earlier in the warehouse.

Best laid plans and all that…

~*~*~*~*~

“What happened, Marcus? Why did Renee leave?”

The pair was ensconced inside the clan’s private jet, one that had been bought by one of the numerous dummy companies they owned. Buffy was nervous, but trying desperately not to show it. She’d never been on a plane quite so small, or seemingly that fast. Her fingers gripped the armrest as the jet reached a cruising altitude and abruptly leveled out, causing her stomach to dip tremendously.

Marcus laid a reassuring hand on hers.

“You’ll get used to it, Buffy. Hell, I think it’s the only way we travel now.” He grinned, and Buffy was reminded once more why she liked him so much. It was that devil-may-care attitude so similar to Spike’s. But, whereas Spike was often unapproachable to any but his own, Marcus had a type of boyish playfulness about him that was completely offsetting.

It was that look that had fooled one too many into a sense of trust.

“As far as Renee, well, you know her best. She never talked much about Jared after he…” His voice trailed off.

“Yeah.” Buffy leaned back in her seat. “She really loved him.”

“And after you and Spike disappeared…”

“She didn’t handle it too well?” Buffy asked.

“No. Even knowing we’d be seeing you again. Renee had been lulled into thinking that you both were meant to stay with us. Hell, we _all_ were. Then to lose both Sire and best friend in one fell swoop… I’m not gonna lie to you, Buffy. It was a rough couple of years. If I’d not had Angelina…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault. If it was anyone’s, it was those damn Powers.”

“Yeah, but still. We’d stopped talking about it. About Sunnydale, and the possibility of returning. So much time had passed. We had a good thing going.”

“I know. Anyway. After Renee left, we drifted apart for a bit. Surprisingly though, we all made our way home in under a year. Everyone, except for Renee.”

Buffy didn’t ask which home. She knew. Knew that of all the countries they’d been to over the years, their place in Japan had been their home away from home. A calming influence to every one of them.

“Why?”

“Why did we go home, or why not Renee?”

“I don’t know… both?”

Marcus drew the Slayer out of her chair and settled her on his lap. Lifted her hand towards his mouth. In the blink of an eye, his demon emerged and his fang lanced her palm, leaving a fine trail of blood. “There’s no denying who we are.”

“Yes.” She nodded at Marcus as he leaned down and drew his tongue along the shallow cut he’d made, easily closing the wound.

“We’re family. It didn’t feel right to be apart, especially after all the time we’d been together. The first year was rough, all of us being at loose ends with nothing to do. No Sire. No… you. The only thing that kept us going was the bond. That we could feel, even faint though it was. The Powers gave us that at least.” Marcus sighed and rested his chin on Buffy’s head, gave her a brief squeeze, reassurance for both him and her that she was back where she belonged. “We stayed there another year, then Adam told us it was time to get back to work. Guess he got wind of a problem in Africa, so we left home and haven’t been back since.”

“But why not Renee? How come—?”

“She’s searching, love,” he told her gently. “Her demon has been unsettled for quite some time, but with you… and Spike… she was content, if not completely happy. Don’t worry. She would have come back after she’d found what she’s been looking for.”

The two lapsed into silence for a while, content just to sit there as the jet brought them closer to New York. Buffy dozed off and on throughout the remainder of the flight, her head resting comfortably against Marcus’ shoulder. When she was awake, he told her about what they’d done in the last hundred and fifty years, give or take. The would-be dictators they’d dispensed with – human and demon alike. The apocalypses they’d averted. And all the other things the clan had done nothing to prevent.

Buffy listened to it all, knowing they were there to maintain the balance. Good and bad, like opposite sides of the same coin. Couldn’t have one without the other. It still didn’t prevent her eyes from tearing up at hearing it, however.

It probably never would.

~*~*~*~*~

“Wake up, Buffy.”

Buffy sat up and stretched in her perch on Marcus’ lap.

“What time is it?” she asked sleepily.

“Little after four. We should be on the ground in another twenty minutes.”

He shifted Buffy off his lap and directed her to her seat so she could buckle up for the landing.

“Do you have any idea where she is?”

“No, but it won’t be difficult to track her once we’re on the ground,” Marcus told her. “The closer we get, the stronger the bond.”

Buffy nodded. Even now she could feel a slight tug of the blood bond they all shared. An unconscious pull towards their wayward family member.


	58. Chapter 58

“Are you sure this is the place?” Buffy asked as Marcus drove the car into the underground parking garage.

Marcus glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his brow rising slightly.

“Sorry. Dumb question. It’s just that I figured Renee would be keeping a low profile. Seems strange she’d be here.”

“You can ask her when we catch up to her. Come on.”

Marcus pulled into a parking spot and killed the engine, and together, they got out of the car, walking towards the elevators that would take them upstairs and into the hotel. As the two neared, Buffy noticed the security cameras sticking out of the ceiling and fixated on the doors and gripped Marcus’ arm.

“What about…?” Her head tilted slightly towards the stationary recording device.

“Doesn’t matter. Besides, we can always come back and make the tape disappear.”

~*~*~*~*~

Renee disentangled herself from the girl lying unmoving on top of the comforter and rose quietly to her feet. By all rights, she should be preparing for sleep, the lightening sky telling her demon to seek her own bed. To rest.

But too many thoughts kept her awake. Not to mention the tug of family. And _not_ the one that would be rising with the moon.

She walked out into the suite’s darkened living space. The windows that would normally provide a spectacular view as the sun crested from the east were covered by a state-of-the-art blind system that completely obliterated the deathly rays. Renee paced for a bit, the pull of her bond steadily growing stronger, until in sudden realization, she knew.

Moving swiftly about the various rooms in the penthouse suite, she hunted for the key that would gain her access to the private elevator, raising it in triumph when it was finally found. With a burst of speed, she was at the door, and disengaging the lock, hurrying inside and pushing the garage level button. All the while praying she wasn’t too late, and that they’d not take another car.

Because the elevator she was in was the only one that had access to Jocelyn’s private suite.

~*~*~*~*~

Marcus had one foot in the elevator when Buffy’s hand reached out and told him to wait.

“What is it?” he asked, concerned.

“Nothing just…”

Suddenly, the keyed elevator next to the one they’d been about to enter came to life.

“Buffy…”

“It’s Renee. She knows we’re here.”

Marcus stepped back and allowed the steel doors to close and the two waited as the second elevator descended towards the parking garage. There was a ding announcing the car’s arrival, then the doors slid open to reveal Renee.

“Buffy!”

“Renee!”

Buffy launched herself at her friend, holding her tight as tears of happiness streamed silently down her cheeks. “I thought you were dead,” Buffy sobbed into Renee’s neck.

Renee lifted her own tear-filled gaze to see Marcus standing there with a soft smile of understanding on his face.

“Welcome home, Renee.”

“Marcus,” she whispered. Their own special language had sounded like music to her ears and rolled off her tongue without hesitation. “I’ve missed you all so much. I just…” Her voice faltered.

“I know. But you were never very far from us.”

Buffy finally got her emotions under control and leaned back to regard her friend. She wiped away her wet face with the back of her hand, smiling half-heartedly at her emotional outburst. 

“You look happy,” Buffy announced.

“I am, Buffy. I am. Come, I’ve something I want to show you.”

Renee smiled, gesturing for Marcus to step inside the elevator and allow the doors to close.

~*~*~*~*~

Doyle got one moment of silence. One blessed moment before what he’d said had worn off and they’d both been on him in a shot. Talking over each other as they told him in no uncertain terms what they thought of his ideas.

Like they were _his_ ideas. He did mention the part about being an emissary, right? Just the messenger here.

The Powers were going to owe him big time for this! At least with Spike, after a brief emotional outburst, the two would move on. Share a brandy. Maybe play some chess… or cards.

After the third time the pair repeated themselves, he put two fingers to his lips and let loose with a shrill whistle. The one-side conversations ceased abruptly, and Doyle let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Don’t suppose you can just take my word for it?” Doyle reasoned with the pair one more time.

“Accept this… this foolhardy _notion_?” Giles asked. “Just give up my slayer on your say so?”

“Fine… _Fine_.” Doyle looked up at the ceiling. “You can always just wipe their memories later,” he reasoned. “Not like you’ve not done it before. Send me the book.”

He ignored the dubious stares from both Giles and Angel, instead eyeing the coffee table in front of him. The thick, worn leather-covered tome materialized out of thin air and Doyle leaned forward in his chair to pull it onto his lap. His expression turned smug at their startled looks. _Finally, a modicum of respect!_

“You want to know why the Slayer is lost to you?” Doyle patted the book. “This is why. Sit down, both of you. This may take some time.”

Angel opened his mouth to object, but at a harsh look from Giles, he closed it. And sat.

~*~ *~*~*~

“You expect me to believe that Spike, evil, soulless Spike, is the sire of a group of former Aurelian vampires, and they traipse around the world fighting evil?” Angel’s tone was incredulous, with a heavy dose of mocking. The tale Doyle had spun, too preposterous by half. “Not to mention that I would have known if there’d been a break from the clan.”

“You were off with Darla at the time. England held no appeal to you both. Plus, I think there was a little matter of a demon hunter named Holtz...”

Angel stiffened, but didn’t comment. After killing off the man’s family, he and Darla had left England behind, traveling towards Italy. Angelus had had a thing for nuns, specifically young girls bent on joining the convent and had figured the city would offer up plenty of victims in that regard.

Doyle noted the vampire’s tortured expression and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hmmm… I see that you do remember.”

“It was a long time ago. Before the soul,” Angel argued quietly.

“Funny. Spike didn’t need one to follow _his_ destiny. Just the love of the Slayer. And a family of his own.”

Tormented, his worst fears realized, Angel stood abruptly and stormed from the watcher’s home and out into the night.

Doyle didn’t bother to turn around as the front door slammed shut behind him. Instead, his eyes were on the watcher. Taking note of his reaction to what his slayer had become – and why.

Giles, for his part, was floored. Leaning back in his chair, his hands swiped the glasses from his face.

“I knew she was special… I just... I never realized…” His voice trailed off. “And Spike, you say?”

Doyle got up and walked into the kitchen. He opened and closed cabinets until he found the watcher’s secret stash. His hand closed around the bottle of Lagavulin, and he spent another minute looking for a couple of glasses before returning to the living room. Back to the man still coming to grips with what had been told about his slayer and the new role she played on behalf of the Powers. He sat down and uncorked the top, pouring a healthy dose into both tumblers and handing one to Giles.

“Thank you,” Giles murmured absently.

“Cheers.” Doyle saluted the watcher, and took a sip, smiling as the whisky slid down his throat, warming him considerably.

They sat there in silence, both lost in thought as they savored their drinks. Doyle had just finished off his glass when there was a knock at the door.

“Pardon me.” Giles stood and walked to the entrance.

He opened the door and nearly jumped back in alarm. Standing on his front step, dressed all in black, was Spike. His hair was longer than he remembered, darker, falling in waves to his shoulders, but the smirk was right. The cold, deep blue eyes, too.

“W-what do you want?” he stammered out.

Spike quirked a brow.

“He’ll be wantin’ me,” Doyle announced, stepping up beside the watcher. “You just missed Angel,” he told the vampire.

Spike’s eyes narrowed at the mention of his grandsire, but he said nothing.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Nos es quam ventus.”

“Ahh… so that was you I felt?”

“Slow… slow down. It’s been a while… wanker.” The corner of Spike’s lips curled up as he uttered the remembered insult, even if it sounded funny coming from such a formal tone.

“Yeah, well, some of us don’t have your ken for languages. Where’s Buffy? I’m assuming she’s with you. And the others?”

“You told him?” Spike growled, suddenly angry.

“Don’t worry about it. Powers’ll probably wipe it from their memory later.”

“ _Their_ memory? As in more than one?”

“Well, yeah. I told you Angel just left here,” Doyle admitted. “He was like a dog with a bone. I had to do something.”

“You could have left him to me!”

Doyle leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s no need to rub his nose in it. You won. He lost.”

Alric’s report of how Angel had tried to attack him – even after the blood bond had been revealed – came back to him, and his eyes flashed.

“Buffy is my wife, not some prize.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“And he dared touch one of mine.” His voice grew softer, telling Doyle just how pissed Spike actually was.

“Spike…”

“I won’t kill him, Doyle. But I’ll not stand for the insult either. I’m not one of his any longer. He should have known better.”

“Cut him some slack. He’s barely had a day to deal with everything. You’ve had well over seventy years. We still need him.”

“You need him, I don’t. I may do your dirty work, but I’m nobody’s lapdog.”

Doyle nodded, well aware that the vampire would do what he wanted.

“We’ve a few things to see to then we’ll leave Sunnydale,” Spike told Doyle. “Keep the new slayer on a tight leash, and leave Angel to me.”

“Excuse me? Leave?” Giles had watched the byplay between the two, but at the vampire’s last statement, he couldn’t help but speak up.

“That’s right, watcher. World’s a big place.”

“But what about Buffy?”

Spike rushed the door, stopping just before the barrier would jar him backwards. “She’s mine, watcher. Mine! She goes with me.”

“But her family. Her friends.”

“She’s been with us for the last seventy-five years. Do you think she even remembers them? We’re her family now.”

Giles knew not where he gained the strength to talk back to the vampire, but he did.

“Easy enough to say. But what about her mother? Who’s probably home right now, wondering where she is.”

“Not my problem.” Spike turned to Doyle, growling out his name.

“Can we not at least see her before you go? Please, Spike. She was, _is_ , like a daughter to me.” He didn’t care that he was begging a vampire. His only wish, to see for himself that this was what Buffy truly wanted. Only then could he feel comfortable letting her go, like Doyle had warned him to do.

“I make no promises,” Spike told the Englishman, then turned and walked away.

Doyle thanked the watcher for his hospitality and took off after the retreating vampire.

~*~*~*~*~

“Look, Spike. I know you’re mad.”

Spike ignored Doyle and kept on walking.

“You had to come back. At some point, you _had_ to come back.”

It was said quietly, but the vampire heard. And stopped. He turned, glaring at his friend.

“ _Why_?”

So much anguish in that one word. Emotion he’d never reveal to anyone else outside his family. Save one.

“Because. You had to become you. If you’d stayed in the past… well, I don’t understand the logistics of it myself. But, it would have done something. If it’s any consolation, I pushed to keep you there as long as possible.”

“It’s not.”

“Spike…”

But, Spike had already started walking again, forcing Doyle to run to catch up with him.

“Spike… come on. Spike…”

Spike stopped abruptly, causing Doyle to almost run into him. He stopped just in time…barely.

“I was _happy_ , Doyle. For once in my soddin’ life. I, William, The Bloody Awful Poet, was happy. Now I’m back here. _We’re_ back here. Dealin’ with _this_.” His arms gestured to encompass all of Sunnydale and everything it held.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah… well… you should be.”

“Come on. I’ll buy you a drink. Be like old times.”

Spike quirked an eyebrow at his demon friend. “Low profile, Doyle. Remember?”

“Right. We can go back to your place. I’m sure you have something there to drink. Especially if Adam was seeing to the details. Plus, it’ll give me a chance to catch up with the others. Say hello to your more amenable other half.”

“Buffy’s not in Sunnydale right now. She’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Not in Sunnydale? Where? Ahhhh… Renee. Yeah, about that. Nah, scratch that. I’ll let them surprise you.”

“Surprise me? You forget who I am. It’s why I let her go in the first place,” Spike told him smugly.

“So, you know about Jocelyn?”

“That the bird’s name?”

“Yeah. She’s family, believe it or not.”

“Of course she is, you git.”

“No, I mean, _really_ family. She’s a descendant of Nicholas Allen, Renee’s brother. The last, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The two walked on, Doyle with complete confidence in Spike’s awareness of his surroundings – that they’d not encounter anyone on their way to the vampire’s temporary home.

“You gonna let the Slayer say goodbye to her mum? Her friends?” Doyle asked some time later.

Spike’s step faltered, indicating he’d heard the question.

“If she wants to. I told you. It’s been damn near seventy-five years. You really think she’s going to remember them? Care about them?”

“I’m sure there’s some part of her that does.”

“She’s not that girl anymore, Doyle. What good’s it gonna do? Besides, it’s not like they’re gonna remember her anyway, right?” Spike reasoned. “Or, were you just blowin’ smoke up my arse earlier?”

“Well, they can’t have anyone knowing about you,” he told the vampire, referring to the Powers. “Kinda’ defeats the purpose of you being ‘invisible.’ It can’t hurt either. And, you can watch how she completely ignores Angel.”

“Who said anything about the bloody poof bein’ there?”

Doyle just gave him the “look.”

“Fine!” he growled, pulling up short in front of a seemingly abandoned warehouse.


	59. Chapter 59

“Don’t see what good this is going to do,” Spike grumbled. “I say we just wait until Buffy gets back, or better yet, make the watcher do it.”

“You _are_ her husband.”

“Yeah, and _that’s_ going to go over well, too, now isn’t it. Fuck, Doyle, the last time she saw me, I was leaning over her daughter intent on making her my third dead Slayer. Got an axe to the head for my troubles. Now you want me to what? _Explain_ things to her?”

“I don’t know, Spike. Maybe you’re right. This is a bad idea. Forget I mentioned it. Blame it on the Lagavulin. Good stuff always _did_ go straight to my head.”

Spike snorted but didn’t say anything in response, just veered off from his path to the Slayer’s house and started walking back towards home. He hadn’t gone too far when he felt the presence of Angel lurking somewhere behind him; Spike had done nothing to prevent it from happening either. Hell, he’d been hoping the git would confront him. Needed the release their brief fight might grant him.

And there’d been no doubt in his mind that there would be one. Angelus would view Spike’s relationship with the Slayer as poaching on what he considered his. Not that Buffy had ever belonged to him or anything – she’d been a virgin, and there’d been no bite marks. At least none from the broody one. No, Angelus was just a territorial bastard, and had some strange notion that the Slayer belonged to him. Even the soul wouldn’t be enough deterrent to keep him from trying to ram home that fact to Spike.

_Try_ being the operative word.

He stopped, a smirk transforming his lips. Doyle drew to a halt and looked at his friend, frowning upon seeing the vampire’s eyes alight with mischief.

“Spike…uh, what are you doing?”

“Just a bit of family business to clear up,” he told Doyle conversationally. Then continued in a louder voice, sure enough to carry, “Isn’t that right, Angelus?”

“Angelus? What?” Doyle glanced around frantically for the souled vampire, and seeing no signs of Angel, looked pointedly at his friend. “Spike, now is not the time...”

“As if you could stop it.” He turned around, and sure enough, Angel was striding towards him. Every step he made, the rigid set of his shoulders, conveying his rage. Spike was surprised he wasn’t sporting his demon, given his obvious anger.

“Spike…” Doyle tried again.

“Look, this will be over in a minute. Now step back out of the way before you get hurt.”

Spike’s words to the Powers’ emissary were like salt to an open wound for Angel. The stake was out of his pocket and he rushed forward. Fueled by his resentment at being usurped by the younger vamp, Angel’s brain shut down, allowing his emotions to rule his actions. He wanted only to dust Spike. Wanted it so badly, he could practically taste it.

How dare the vampire take what was his!

Spike caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Saw that it was Alric and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head – even as he twisted his body away from the intended blow and grabbed the wrist holding the stake. In the blink of an eye, Spike had the wooden object out of Angel’s hand and gave a push to his back, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

Angel’s eyes widened at how easily he’d been disarmed, again, but managed to recover enough that he rolled on the ground and was back on his feet in an instant, ready to take on his troublesome grandchilde once more.

“Leave off, Angelus. You can’t beat me. I’m not him anymore.”

The statement threw Angel, causing him to pause in his attack. “Not who?”

“William. Spike. Take your pick. I’m not the hotheaded, reckless vamp I used to be. I won’t be cowered. Not by you. Not by anyone. I’m master of my own clan now. And you? You’re just a souled up pseudo-champion living off animal’s blood.”

Angel growled, his eyes narrowing.

“Do you really think you could take me when you couldn’t even defeat one of my own childer?” Spike kept his eyes on the vampire in front of him and quietly spoke Alric’s name.

Angel stared in disbelief as the vampire that had been with Buffy in the sewers stepped out of the shadows and joined Spike.

“I thought I told you to stay in the warehouse,” Spike commented quietly – his words unrecognizable to either Angel or Doyle – once Alric stopped next to him.

“I waited until the plane took off first. I was on my way back to the warehouse when I saw _him_ following you.” He inclined his head towards the seething vampire, who made no move to attack with both of them standing there. “So, I followed him while he followed you.”

“I knew he was there. And as you can see, I have the situation well in hand.”

“I know. I came to watch.” Alric winked and Spike laughed. He so enjoyed his childe’s wit. Sensing Doyle’s regard, Spike sobered.

“You both finished your pissin’ contest now?” Doyle asked, stepping away from the tree and walking across the grass towards Spike and Alric.

“For now,” Spike allowed, switching back to English for the benefit of his friend. “All depends on him.” His gaze had yet to deviate from Angel.

Angel, seeing his chance to do away with Spike was now gone, turned and stalked off, his coat tails billowing out behind him.

“Wanker,” Spike grumbled, starting towards the warehouse once more.

“What’s a wanker?” Alric asked.

“See you haven’t been in England of late,” Spike commented. “Hmmm… how to translate…”

Doyle held up his hand and interrupted the two.

“What the hell are you guys talking about? You know it’s rude to speak in a language not everyone can understand.”

“Well, ‘m a bad, rude man,” Spike told him in English.

“Oh, look who’s a comedian of a sudden.”

Spike said something that Doyle didn’t catch, but figured it wasn’t very nice since Alric started laughing. He narrowed his eyes at Spike, grumbling under his breath, “You’re lucky I like you, asshole.”

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy watched over the three vampires as they slept in the plush chairs of the small jet. Though the sun was high in the sky – a time she would normally be sleeping thanks to having spent so much time with Spike and the others – she found herself unable to close her eyes. Marcus slept with his head in her lap, feet flung over the arm of his chair. Renee was snuggled with her new childe, her arms wrapped protectively around the girl that bore such a striking resemblance to her friend. Though they could have spread out and been more comfortable, the four huddled together in two sets of chairs facing the other, unwilling to be separated after so long an absence. They needed the reassurance, the touch their family provided.

Rather than wait for the cover of darkness to leave New York behind, it had been decided that they’d return to the airport right away and fly back to Sunnydale. When Jocelyn woke, it would be around the entire clan. With the decision made, it was an easy matter of Marcus incapacitating the security cameras to make good their escape without raising questions as to the undead girl’s state. Then, rather than using the car they’d rented, the vampire had thought to show off his grand theft auto skills, stealing a car that would provide a more secure means of transportation in the daylight hours. But at the Slayer’s protestation of not being able to drive, they’d put in a call to Adam to arrange for a limousine to pick them up at the hotel and see them back to the airport.

They’d been in the air for almost six hours when the co-pilot left the cockpit to inform them of their descent into Sunnydale. Marcus woke at the man’s arrival into the cabin and sat up, nodding at their trusted employee. Renee and Jocelyn slept on until the plane actually touched down and pulled into a private hangar. Even then, Buffy had to nudge her friend awake when the small plane rolled to a stop.

Once the plane had been secured, the pilot came out to inform them of the car waiting to escort them home – that he’d received word from Adam while they’d been in the air, confirming its security. Marcus thanked the man and told them that they’d be in touch –they weren’t sure how long they would be in Sunnydale.

“I’ve got a mandatory down time. FAA rules. But, you know how to reach me if you need me beforehand.”

“Thanks, Steve.” Marcus shook the pilot’s hand and reached down and gently lifted Jocelyn out of Renee’s arms.

Renee smiled her gratitude and followed behind, linking her arm with Buffy’s as she went.

“You should have slept,” Renee chided Buffy, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.

“I slept on the way out. I can go back to bed once we’re home.”

They descended the short flight of stairs and started walking across the cement slab towards the waiting vehicle.

“I still can’t get over how alike in appearance you two are,” Buffy commented.

“You! You should have seen her, Buffy.” Renee smiled fondly at the memory. “Walked into the club like she owned the place. Even seemed to recognize a few of the fledges casing the joint, too. Thought it was just going to be a thing, ya know? But then I finally got a look at her face, and I just _knew_. She’s a part of me. A part of Nicholas, my brother.”

“You’re truly happy then?”

Renee nodded.

“Then I’m happy for you.”

“We’ll have to go back, Buffy. I haven’t told you everything. She knew about us…. Well, vampires at any rate. She thinks… believes… that… she thinks my family, my human family, has been able to track me. Jocelyn… she knows Travers. Knows about the Council. We’ve got to get those books back.”

“Don’t worry, Renee. We’ll get it sorted.” Inside, Buffy was trying not to panic.

“I hope so. I don’t want our family at risk because of what she knows. Or, who she is…”

“Spike won’t let that happen. Now stop worrying. Come on, I’m sure the others are as anxious to see you as I was.”

The two women climbed into the back of the waiting limousine, allowing the door to be shut behind them by the driver. Jocelyn had been laid out on one seat, and Renee sat down there, lifting the girl’s head onto her lap. Buffy plopped down next to Marcus and curled into his side.

“Thanks for coming with me, Marcus,” she told him quietly.

Marcus slipped his arm around the Slayer’s shoulder and gave her a quick hug. “As if you didn’t know you’ve got me wrapped around your finger, Buffy.”

“Well, there is that.” She grinned for a moment before her face grew serious once more. “No more… promise me?”

“No more what?”

“I just… I don’t like it when we’re apart. It doesn’t _feel_ right.”

“I know it doesn’t. But—”

“No buts, Marcus. Please…”

Marcus sighed.

“I can’t promise you that. We don’t have the sight,” he told her. “We don’t know the future. But you know we’d never willingly leave our sire’s side.”

“I know. I’m being selfish… and unreasonable.” She paused, unsure how to proceed. “I’m scared, Marcus,” she finally told him in a quiet voice, barely above a whisper.

He felt her burrow closer to him, seeking his reassurance, and he tightened his grip on her shoulder.

“What are you scared of?”

“This. Being back here. What it means. _Why_ did we have to come back?” she asked, nearly in tears.

“I don’t know the answers to that, Slayer.” And Marcus didn’t. Too many people knew about Buffy – about Spike – in this time. Though no one knew about him and Spike’s other childer, or the fact that Spike was no longer considered a true Aurelian vampire, it was only a matter of time before others found out.

Then how would they continue on as they were?

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy wasn’t surprised to see Spike standing just inside the door as she walked inside. She rushed forward, throwing herself in his arms.

“Missed you, pet,” he murmured into her hair.

“I was only gone about twelve hours,” she replied; her sassy tone belied the fact that she had a death grip on his neck. “I missed you, too.”

“I see Renee brought someone with her,” Spike commented casually.

Almost too casually, and Buffy lifted her head to glare at him.

“You _knew_!” Her anxiety over their situation was forgotten in light of her husband’s omission.

“Well, of course I did. Wouldn’t be her sire if I didn’t.”

“And you didn’t _tell_ me?” Buffy frowned at her husband.

“Wanted it to be a surprise.”

He gaze swung towards the doorway as Marcus came in carrying Renee’s sleeping childe. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the girl’s features.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered.

Marcus smirked at his sire. “Yeah, that’s pretty much the consensus. ‘Bout threw me and Buffy for a loop.”

“Me too,” Renee added as she hurried into the door behind him. Though the entrance to the warehouse was completely covered in shadow, walking about in broad daylight never sat well with her demon. “Is there some place I can take her?”

Esme and Angelina both came forward. “Come on,” Angelina commented, trailing a hand down along her mate’s cheek in welcome. “We’ll show you.”

Buffy tried to hide her yawn behind her hand, but Spike saw it anyway.

“Come on, love. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Sire!” Adam’s voice called out. “Think you might want to see this.”

Spike walked with Buffy over towards the monitors. He saw who was slowly walking up to the Slayer’s house and couldn’t help muttering, “Better him than me.”

“Spike!” Buffy’s hand tightened reflexively around Spike’s. “Oh my god! My mom! She’s—”

“It’s alright, pet. Think your watcher is there to explain things to her.”

“Giles? Why would he…? How does he…?”

“Hey, Buffy.”

“Doyle,” she greeted Doyle. Then as she put his sudden appearance together with Giles’ appearance at her mother’s front door, her eyes narrowed in understanding. “You told him, didn’t you? Why?”

“Sorry, Buffy. And don’t look at me like that,” he added at her hurt expression. “It’s not like I have any say so in the matter.”

Spike mumbled something that sounded like him not being the only one led about on a string.

“If anyone’s going to be able to get your mom to understand, it’ll be Giles,” he whispered quietly for her benefit, not that Doyle would understand what he’d said, even if he _could ___hear. Spike wasn’t quite ready to let his friend off the hook for one, telling Angel about him and his childer, and two, for not letting him finish what the other started earlier – not to mention the fact that he was going to have to put up with the git once this proposed “reunion” took place.

Buffy watched the monitor as Giles fidgeted on the front porch for a moment, apparently working up his nerve to ring the doorbell. She noticed a few books under his arm – ammunition, no doubt, to get her mother to believe him.

“She’s probably wondering where I am,” Buffy commented almost to herself. “Spike…”

“You want to call her?” he guessed.

She looked up to see his guarded expression, and she nodded.

“Alright, luv. Adam, get her a secure phone. I don’t want any traces.”


	60. Chapter 60

Giles schooled his features into a pleasant smile and struggled with the books in his arms. Finally managing to get them settled in one, he used the other and extended his forefinger to push the doorbell. The noise, though muffled by the barrier of the closed door, still reverberated in his head, and he shifted on his feet, struggling to subdue the moan of pain that rose automatically on his lips.

After Doyle left last night, he’d had every intention of going to Joyce to try to explain things to her. But as he’d walked back into his living room to retrieve a few books that might aid him in his cause, he’d seen the uncorked bottle of Lagavulin and figured he could do with another shot of liquid courage. One thing had led to another, one glass had become five, until he’d lost count and damn near finished off the bottle.

He didn’t remember passing out on the couch, but the crick in his neck and the pounding in his head told him that he wouldn’t pull a stunt like that _ever _again.__

The door was jerked open, Buffy’s name shouted from the woman’s lips before she could see who was standing on the front porch.

“Oh! Mr., uh, _Giles_?”

Giles smiled wanly, the woman’s shocked – and _loud_ – greeting setting off a new round of throbbing inside his head.

“Hello, Mrs. Summers. I, uh, was wondering if I might have a word with you.” When he saw her hesitate, he added, “It’s about your daughter, Buffy.”

“Buffy?” she gasped, latching onto his free arm. “Do you know where she is? Is she alright?”

Joyce’s shrill screeching set his teeth on edge, and he couldn’t hide his wince as his headache bloomed anew. “She’s…” He struggled to find something to say that would placate the woman enough so that she wouldn’t call the police – if she hadn’t already.

“Are you all right, Mr. Giles?” Joyce asked upon noticing his pained expression.

“Yes… yes, I’m fine. Would you mind if I came in, Mrs. Summers? This may take some time.”

Joyce stood there in indecision for a moment before finally releasing her hold on him and stepping back, allowing him to enter. She eyed the books tucked under his arms curiously as he crossed the threshold and waited patiently in the foyer then closed the door and led him to the living room.

“Would you like something to drink, Mr. Giles?” she asked, manners getting the best of her. “I have a pot of coffee that I just brewed.”

Tea would have been preferred, but he wasn’t going to turn down something hot and loaded with caffeine.

“Coffee would be perfect. Black, please, if you don’t mind. And, please, call me Rupert, or just Giles. The ‘mister’ reminds me of my father.” He affected, what he hoped was a grateful expression, then watched as she nodded and smiled, finally moving off towards the kitchen.

With the room to himself, Giles’ lips turned downward, his face taking on a greenish tinge; he mentally worked to still his rolling stomach. After a few moments, he set his books on the coffee table and sat gingerly on the couch, moving in exaggeratedly slow movement as he catered to his hangover. When that was accomplished, he leaned back against the cushions and allowed his eyes to close while he waited for Joyce to return.

~*~*~*~*~

Joyce stilled her shaking hands and carefully removed two mugs from the cabinet. Her flight home last night had been delayed and she’d been unable to reach Buffy to let her know that she was going to be late. After three unsuccessful attempts, she’d finally left a message, giving her daughter the new arrival time – not that Joyce would need a ride since she’d left her Jeep at the airport, but to let her daughter know that she wouldn’t be home for dinner and to use some of the slush fund to order something to eat.

It had been an exhausted Joyce that had entered her home around eleven last night. She’d dropped her suitcases just inside the front door and made her way wearily up the stairs to check on her daughter. When she’d opened her bedroom door and Buffy hadn’t been inside, Joyce had begun to panic. It was too late to call Willow’s house to see if Buffy had gone there, though she’d rushed to her bedroom and had the receiver in her hand, the number halfway dialed, before her reasoning resurfaced.

It wasn’t like her daughter hadn’t made use of her friend’s house often enough in the past when she didn’t feel like being home alone.

Thoughts of a note left on the refrigerator telling of Buffy’s whereabouts had her returning the handset to its cradle and walking downstairs. In the kitchen, she’d turned on the light, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness. But once they had, the glaringly obvious lack of a note tacked to the refrigerator was the first thing she noticed. The second was the blinking red light on the kitchen phone’s answering machine.

Her daughter hadn’t been home to check the messages.

Anger filled her as she’d begun to panic, and Joyce had paced the small confines of the kitchen trying to determine what to do.

She’d met her daughter’s friends, Xander and Willow, and thought them both nice enough. Had actually thought their influence would rub off on her daughter. Especially Willow’s; the girl seemed quiet and studious, traits her daughter would do well to possess.

Joyce had begun to notice things recently. Things her daughter thought she’d been able to cover, or wouldn’t suspect. Clothing that seemed to disappear, Buffy’s vague comments at not knowing, drawing suspicion – especially when she’d been cleaning the trash can in the basement and come across a mangled shirt with what appeared like dried blood on it. The winces of pain her daughter thought she hid, her constant exhaustion, similar to when they’d been living in Los Angeles.

She’d feared her daughter had hooked up with a bad crowd again, and was using her absences out of town to her advantage. Only the fact that her grades, though not stellar, seemed to improve from what they’d become those last few months in Los Angeles, had kept her from confronting Buffy.

Joyce had eventually moved to the living room, too tired to remain on her feet to wait up for her daughter. Determined to speak with her once and for all about her behavior. She’d fallen asleep waiting for Buffy to come home, only waking as the sun shone through the partially open curtains on the living room windows. She’d sat up abruptly, momentarily confused as to where she was. Then it had come back to her.

She’d rushed upstairs and burst inside her daughter’s room, praying that Buffy had snuck inside sometime late last night. But, no, the room had still been empty. There was no sign of her anywhere.

Frustrated, angry, and near tears at her daughter’s behavior, Joyce had trudged off and taken a shower, washing away the dirt and grime of the flight home. Then she’d gone down to make some coffee. She’d debated calling the school to see if her daughter was in class, but didn’t want to appear a failure in their eyes, so had held off. Instead, she’d called the gallery and told them she wouldn’t be coming in, that her flight had been delayed and she was still dealing with jetlag, and that she would be in to work tomorrow. Her assistant had laughed and told her to have a lazy day at home.

She’d been just about to pour herself a cup of coffee when the doorbell had rung. Setting the pot down, Joyce had hurried to the front door, calling out Buffy’s name as she opened it – even knowing that her daughter had her own key and could let herself in.

It had thrown her seeing the school’s librarian standing there – a little green around the gills, shuffling nervously on his feet.

After fixing two cups of coffee, peppering hers liberally with sugar and cream, Joyce carried them back to the living room. She paused to hand one to Rupert before taking a seat on the chair, forcing herself to wait for the man to speak. Watched as he waged a silent battle in his mind, his mouth opening and closing at intervals. When he did open his mouth and finally start talking, she could only stare in shock at what she heard.

“What do you know of vampires, Mrs. Summers?”

“Is this some kind of joke?” Joyce demanded. She set her cup of coffee aside, her eyes boring holes into the man.

Then the phone rang.

Joyce was going to ignore it, really she was. After that out-of-left-field question, she was determined to get some answers. But thoughts of her daughter had her rushing from the room and into the kitchen to reach the phone, but only after giving Giles a pointed look that left no doubt that they were going to finish their discussion.

“Hello!” Her barked greeting was a carryover from the living room.

“Mom?” Buffy’s voice was soft, hesitant.

“Buffy?” Just an instant of motherly concern, relief that her daughter was safe, then she exploded. “Buffy! Where the _hell_ are you? I want you home right this instant, young lady! Do you hear me!!?” Tears were welling in her eyes, threatening to spill over as the anxiety of last night caught up with her.

“Mom. Can I… speak with Giles for a minute?”

“What…? How did you know Mr. Giles…?” Her voice trailed off and she looked around frantically for some sign of her daughter nearby.

“I saw him walk up to the house.”

“Saw him walk up to the house?” She peered out the window over the sink, but no one was about. “Buffy, where _are_ you?”

“Someplace safe. Mom, can I please speak with Giles for a minute? Then he can explain things to you. Alright?”

Joyce nodded, more confused than ever, but something in her daughter’s tone had her relenting. Then realizing Buffy probably couldn’t see her, she mumbled, “Okay.” She turned, surprised to see Rupert standing in the entryway to the kitchen.

He just stared at her, his eyes unusually somber.

“It’s Buffy,” she told him uselessly. “She… she wants to speak with you.” She held out the phone in his direction.

“Joyce, I…” Her first name slipped unconsciously from his lips, wanting, no… _needing_ to explain things to this woman. He stopped, though, at seeing her upheld hand and nodded wearily, silently taking the phone from her.

“Hello, Buffy.”

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy held the phone to her ear, listening to the sound of her watcher’s greeting. She had wanted to be there when he told her mom about what she was. That she was the Slayer. Only, she didn’t want to go alone, needing the reassurance her husband’s presence would bring her.

The problem was that it was early, barely nine o’clock in the morning. She didn’t want to wait until nightfall because Renee’s childe would be due to rise and she wanted to be there for her friend. Wanted all of them to be there to welcome the newest member into their clan.

She lifted her head, seeking guidance from Spike.

Spike sighed and took the phone from her hands.

“I’m sending Doyle,” he told the man brusquely. “He’ll bring you to us.”

Spike hung up the phone before the watcher could reply.

Buffy leaned up and brushed her lips across her husband’s, her hand a smooth caress along his cheek in gratitude. She slipped silently from the open room and towards Renee and the other women, leaving Spike to hash out the details with Doyle. After checking in briefly with the others, taking a moment to catch up with both Angelina and Esme since she’d left so abruptly after her arrival, Buffy left them to get cleaned up. Praying a long, hot shower would chase off the jetlag now threatening to consume her.

In the bathroom connected to the room she shared with Spike, Buffy quickly stripped and stepped into the shower. She’d set the water as hot as she could stand it, and in minutes, steam had enveloped the tiny room. As she went through the motions of getting clean, tears fell silently down her face, mingling with the spray.

Everything that had happened – was about to happen – was crowding in on her, and it wasn’t long before her shoulders were heaving. Huge, wracking sobs shook her body, and she leaned back against the tile for support, then slid slowly to the ground as her legs gave out on her. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, her arms hugging her legs, face resting on her knees, crying, but the curtain soon parted and she was wrapped in cool arms and cradled against a chest quickly warmed by the hot water raining down on them.

“Shhh… love, it’s alright. I’ve got you now,” Spike murmured against her wet hair.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike watched the Slayer walk from the room and struggled not to throw something. Instead, he turned to Doyle. Telling him to retrieve his wife’s mother and watcher and bring them here.

“Adam, have the car brought round. Doyle, blindfold them. I don’t want that wanker getting wind of where we are. If they don’t agree, they’re not to get within a mile of the warehouse. Is that understood?”

Doyle nodded.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Spike grumbled to himself. He sat down in one of the chairs in front of the monitors and stared at the screens.

“Come on, Doyle,” Clayton told the half-breed. “I’ll walk you up.”

“Yeah… okay.”

The two walked together companionably towards the exit.

“He means it, you know,” the vampire said after a while. “If they won’t submit to a blindfold, don’t bring them here.” Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded cloth. “Or, you can just open this.”

“What is it?” Doyle asked.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“You’ve been watching too many movies, Clay.”

Clayton grinned. “It’s just a little something I picked up. Knocks human’s right out. Harmless though. They’ll wake up in about an hour. Tried it on Buffy once.” The vampire smiled in memory.

At Doyle’s raised eyebrow, Clayton elaborated. “I didn’t think it would work on her since she was claimed by Spike. It worked, only it was more like five minutes instead of an hour. Too bad the thing doesn’t have a memory loss component to go with it. Girl woke up and had murder in her eyes. Lit into me for about an hour once she came round.”

“I’ll bet. Spike probably wasn’t too pleased either.”

“She never told him. Was a bitch trying to hide the limp from my sire, though, let me tell you! And her, struggling not to laugh. She’s evil, I tell you.”

Doyle snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Anyway… keep it in your pocket. If you need to use it, just pull it out and uncover it. The gemstone works instantly.”

“Yeah, and what about me? I’m only _half_ demon, you know.”

“So, you take a little nap. Bob will get you all back safely.”

They arrived at the exit, and Clayton punched in the code that allowed the door to open. He stepped back, enabling the other to walk out into the alley. Bob was waiting there, a smaller blackened out vehicle idling quietly.

“Mr. Doyle,” the employee greeted, holding the rear door open for him.

“I’ll be back shortly,” Doyle told the vampire and walked out into the sunlight to get in the car. A silent hiss and click as the door slid closed and locked was his only answer.

“I gave him the orb as a backup,” Clayton told the others when he stepped back into the room.

Spike perked at that bit of information. “Orb?”

“It’s a sleeping gemstone. Incapacitates humans for about an hour. Knocks them right out. Acquired it from a warlock a few years back.” Clayton’s grin told Spike there was a story behind it. Once things settled down, he’d have to remember to ask his childe about it. Hell, he had a lot of catching up to do with all of his childer.

Spike looked back at the monitor and saw the black car disappear out of range of the monitors. Nothing stood out on any of them, so he rose from his chair and told the others in the room to come get him when Buffy’s mother and watcher arrived.

He was walking down the hall when he felt Buffy weeping.

~*~*~*~*~

Giles held the phone to his ear for a moment, not realizing that he was listening to a dial tone. When he finally did, he slowly lowered it and pressed the disconnect button.

“Okay, I think I’ve been fairly reasonable about everything, but if you don’t tell me what the _hell_ is going on in the next second, I’m… I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Joyce gave him her best “I’m the mom and you’re going to tell me the truth” face. “But, I promise you, it’s going to hurt. Where is Buffy and what was that remark about vampires?”

Giles set the cordless phone on the island countertop, then removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache, while a muted memory a moment ago, was throbbing painfully now.

“Joyce, I know you’re not going to believe me, but your daughter is a vampire slayer.” He took a breath waiting for the woman’s explosion. “And I’m her watcher.”

“Drugs. You’re on drugs, aren’t you? Or dealing drugs. And, somehow, you’ve managed to drag my daughter into this with you. I’m right, aren’t I?” She stood on the opposite side of the kitchen, grateful to have the island between them.

“No, Joyce, I’m not using drugs. Everything I’ve just said is the truth. If you come with me to the living room, I’ll prove it to you.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. In fact, I want you out of my house. I’m calling the cops.” She made to reach for the phone, but his words chilled her to the core.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Mrs. Summers.” At her frightened expression, he relented a bit. “Look… I really _am_ telling you the truth. There’s someone on their way here right now and they’ll take us to Buffy. I just… I just wanted to explain a few things so they don’t come as a quite a shock. Please, Mrs. Summers… _Joyce_. Let me just show you my books.”

Joyce stared at him, her wide eyes narrowing, as if it would allow her to see into his mind. To determine the veracity of his words.

When she finally nodded, Giles breathed a sigh of relief and turned to head back to the living room.

~*~*~*~*~

It was a stunned Joyce that opened the door to reveal a dark-haired man standing on her doorstep. Garbed in normal, everyday clothes, the man didn’t appear to be a threat, but after looking through the book on demons and reading a few excepts from another that Giles had called his “Watcher’s Diary,” she wasn’t quite sure.

“Mrs. Summers,” he greeted her pleasantly enough.

“You’re not a vampire.”

“Errrr… no, ma’am. I’m not. I’m, uh… a friend of Buffy’s... and Spike’s.”

“Spike? Who’s Spike?”

“Ho boy…” Doyle looked over the woman’s shoulder and was pleased to see the watcher step into view. “Giles,” he greeted.

“He’s not a vampire,” Joyce commented. “Is it okay to invite him in?” Joyce knew she probably sounded like she was on the verge of a mental breakdown, but she was having a bit of trouble dealing with everything that Rupert had just told her.

Her daughter was a slayer. She went out night after night, slaying demons. Then came home, calmly as you please, going about her life like it was no big deal if she didn’t come home one night.

“It’s all right, Joyce. This is Doyle. I don’t want to get into the particulars, but he’s a good guy.”

“Oh… okay.”

Seeing the woman’s eyes glaze over, Doyle could have kicked Spike for putting him in this position. “Mrs. Summers, if you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to your daughter.”

“Buffy?” Her voice was small, far away.

Giles caught her before she crumpled to the ground.

“I’ll get the door. Bob will help you,” Doyle told the man.

Giles nodded and easily swung Joyce up into his arms and walked to the car. Doyle secured the front door and, remembering the cameras hidden somewhere on the property, gave an improper gesture for the benefit of whoever was watching, before returning to the car.

Doyle allowed Bob to see him inside and shut the door behind him. He glanced over to see Giles with a tender expression on his face as he gazed down at the woman he held in his arms. However, when the watcher looked up and stared at him, no trace could be found. It was like a mask had slipped into place, hiding whatever the man was thinking. Doyle bit back a smile and silently regarded the other.

“Blindfold or sleep?” he asked, finally, the car well on their way to their destination.

“I get a choice?” Giles asked drolly, knowing right away what the emissary meant.

“Spike’s idea. Not mine. He’ll do anything to protect his clan. Even blindfolding his wife’s mother. But, since she seems to be a bit out of it, I’ll just worry about you.”

“I’ll take the blindfold.”


	61. Chapter 61

The quick peek Giles got of the nondescript brick building before he was gestured forward gave no clue as to where he and Joyce had been taken. Shifting his burden carefully in his arms, he followed behind Doyle to the side door situated in the shaded alley. 

_‘Doesn’t look that impenetrable,’_ Giles thought with a snort of disgust. The door opened inward, just before they reached it, and he had to swallow his nervousness before stepping inside the darkened interior. 

“Hello, Angelina,” Doyle called out to someone lurking in the shadows, then shut the door behind them once Giles stepped through. Outside, Bob returned to the car and drove off. 

“Doyle.” At his quirked brow at her appearance, she smiled, Cheshire-like, explaining, “They figured I would be less intimidating than Alric or Marcus.” She stared at Buffy’s mother passed out in the watcher’s arms and frowned. “What’s wrong with her?” 

Giles cleared his throat and attempted to speak. “Erm…” His voice trailed off at having the woman’s piercing gaze pin him in place. “Just fainted, is all,” he finally managed. “I’m sure she’ll come round shortly.” He eyed the woman warily, his hackles rising when she continued to stare at him intently. Finally breathing a sigh of relief when she dismissed him out of hand and turned to walk away. 

After several minutes spent descending steps, going through a door that required an access code, another flight of steps, followed by a much larger, thicker door, Giles had to rethink their home’s impregnability. Whoever had seen to their defenses obviously knew what they were about. And, Giles realized, they weren’t actually in the building they’d first entered, but were now beneath it. 

He gaped with wide-eyed astonishment as they walked into an open room and passed a wall full of monitors showing various shots of Sunnydale. Spying his home in one of the cameras, he could see how Spike had been able to deduce Doyle’s arrival on his doorstep. The blond male seated in front of the monitors stood and walked towards them. 

“Hello. I’m Adam,” the vampire told them in perfect English, with only a slight trace of an accent. “The others will be along shortly. We didn’t want to overwhelm you.” He smiled slightly at the watcher’s hesitation. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to where you can set Mrs. Summers down.”

Adam moved off, away from the main room towards their den. Once there, he gestured to the couch and stood back out of the way so the watcher could step inside. 

If Giles hadn’t known they were vampires, he would have been shocked to have it revealed to him. Neither of the two demons he’d encountered made any move towards either him or Joyce. Hell, they had better manners than some of his brethren council members. He carefully laid Joyce on the couch and sat on the edge next to her. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he couldn’t help but stare at her pale face, all the while berating himself for thinking things he had no business thinking. Like how beautiful she was. The fire in her eyes that eclipsed her nervousness when she’d stared him down in her kitchen, demanding he get out of her house. The steely resolve she’d exhibited while demanding answers about his involvement with her daughter. 

It made him regret being a watcher, and therefore unable to become better acquainted with her. 

But, oh, how he would have liked to. 

Slipping his hand in hers, Giles called softly to the woman, using his other to stroke the top of it.

“Joyce… Mrs. Summers… we’re here.” He continued to talk quietly to her, drawing her gently from sleep, not wanting to overwhelm her. He paid neither Doyle, nor the two vampires, any mind as the three moved off, no doubt to let Buffy know of their arrival. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy played nervously with the pleats of her dress until Spike finally brushed her hands aside and did it himself. At his pointed look at her choice of outfits, she mumbled something about it being comfortable, and that she’d yet to really go shopping. She didn’t elaborate on the manner in which the gown was comfortable, and he didn’t ask. 

But secretly, he was pleased. 

The Slayer looked right fetching in his plaid. 

The two walked hand-in-hand towards the main area of their underground stronghold, and Spike was silently thankful he was a vampire, because the closer they got to where her mother and watcher were waiting, the tighter her grip became – the bones in his hand would have been crushed had he not been possessed of preternatural strength.

Joyce was just sitting up from her reclined position on the couch when they reached the open doorway; Spike looked askance at Doyle – to which Doyle just shrugged his shoulders in reply. It didn’t matter, however, for as soon as the woman caught sight of her daughter, she pushed Giles out of the way and surged to her feet, hurrying forward. 

Spike stood where he was as his wife rushed to meet her mother, allowing the women a moment to get reacquainted, his face impassive as they spontaneously burst into tears. 

He glanced over to see the watcher’s eyes unnaturally moist, and smirked. 

Buffy finally seemed to remember her manners and pulled away from her mother saying rather shyly, “Mom, there’s someone I would like you to meet.” She turned, eyes lighting on Spike, and beckoned him forward. 

Joyce shifted her gaze from Buffy to the man staring at her daughter too possessively for her peace of mind, and could feel her dander kicking up, protective mother mode on instant alert. Her eyes narrowed when Buffy stepped away from her to wrap her arm about the male’s waist. 

“Mom, I’d like you to meet William Thornton, Marquess of Chadsworth, and my husband. But, you can call him Spike.” 

“Marquess?” she squeaked, shocked. And then the rest of what her daughter said penetrated her mind. “ _Husband_?!?!” 

Buffy thrust her left hand under her mother’s nose, showing off the ruby ring Spike had given her so long ago. The red stone twinkled as her mother gripped her hand, turning it this way and that as she eyed it with equal parts shock and fascination – then her eyes seemed to glaze over as her mind struggled to deal with this latest turn of events. 

Spike could see the woman begin to weave unsteadily on her feet and took charge, motioning them back towards the couch. “I’m sure there’s a lot the watcher has yet to explain,” he reasoned. 

Giles glowered at the vampire, muttering under his breath, “Oh that’s just spiffing! No, that’s fine… it’ll be my fault, not the evil vampire, who’s apparently ravaged her daughter.” He patted the empty place beside him for Joyce to sit next to him, and took hold of her hand when she sank gratefully onto the cushion. 

The action did not go unnoticed by Spike... or Buffy. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Joyce’s gaze shifted back and forth between her daughter and Spike, noting the easy familiarity the two had with one another. After her initial reservations, she’d managed to get past her sixteen year old daughter being married. She’d even one-upped herself and not lost it upon discovering that the Marquess was one of the vampires Mr. Giles had been telling her about. Was in fact the very same one she’d beamed over the head with an axe just a few short weeks ago when he’d dared to attack Buffy during the school’s Parent-Teacher night. No, what amazed her was that in the space of two days, her daughter had lived nearly seventy-five years of her life, all of it, in the past. 

“Seventy-five years,” she whispered yet again. 

From his position behind Buffy – the two occupying one of the chairs across from the couch – Spike stiffened. It was only a matter of time before the watcher’s brain started connecting the dots, and Spike could practically see the wheels turning in the man’s head while he mulled over every piece of information he’d gleaned thus far. Saw the moment the inconsistencies of the Slayer’s appearance made themselves known. 

He’d hoped to be able to get out of explaining Buffy’s youthful appearance. So far as Spike knew, he was the only vampire to have ever claimed a human, most vampires opting to turn someone to see how compatible they’d be with the new demon. Thus, the benefits one would receive had never been documented. Right now, he could have cheerfully killed Doyle for putting him in this position. 

“But how?” Giles asked. “I mean, by all rights, you should be an old woman now, Buffy.” 

Leave it to the Slayer to take the wind out of Spike’s sails and reduce his demon to a pile of goo. 

“I belong to him,” she stated simply. 

“I beg your pardon.” 

“I said I belong to him, Giles,” Buffy repeated. “He’s claimed me as his own.” 

“Claimed?” He’d been given to believe that claiming rituals were between vampires, and even those were rare because eternity was such a long time to remain with someone; he’d never heard of a vampire claiming a human before. He stated as much for the benefit of the others. 

“Why didn’t you just turn her?” the watcher questioned when his statement meant with silence. 

“Turn her?” Joyce echoed. 

Spike was still ignoring him. He’d hauled the Slayer close to his chest; oddly content at her quiet statement, his chest rumbled happily. Buffy smiled back and the two were lost momentarily in each other. 

“Good god, man!” Giles exclaimed suddenly. “Are you purring?” 

The noise died abruptly and Spike turned away from his wife to flash angry eyes at the flabbergasted watcher. 

“No! And if you tell anyone, and I’ll gut you from neck to navel.” 

Giles blanched momentarily at that growled announcement but couldn’t quite stem his curiosity over the vampire’s unusual behavior. 

“I think they look kinda cute together,” Joyce murmured quietly to herself. At the indrawn gasp from the man beside her, she turned to see Giles sputter in astonishment. 

“Cute? Madam, kittens are cute. Vampires… well, they’re…” 

“Evil!” Spike cut in. 

Giles nodded his head vigorously – for once, in complete agreement with the vampire. 

“Yes, like he said… evil.”

“And mean.”

“Nefarious.” 

Buffy rolled her eyes as the two males tripped over themselves in an attempt to prove Spike’s evilness. If either had stopped to examine their actions, they would have been horrified at their show of solidarity. It went on for a few minutes as both of them rattled off synonyms of the word, and Buffy shared a look of exasperation with her mother. 

“But... he obviously loves her very much,” Joyce reasoned, when the two wound down and the room settled into silence. “And she him. I guess that’s all a mother can really ask…” 

“My mother is right. We do love each other very much. Though that wasn’t always the case…” Seeing her watcher latch onto that statement, Buffy held up a hand, forestalling him. “Which is a story for a later date. I believe you wanted to know why Spike didn’t turn me.” She arched a brow, waiting for Giles to nod. 

“It’s simple, really. He didn’t want to. When we woke up in that alley, I was still ‘Elizabeth,’ not the Slayer.” 

“Elizabeth?” Giles asked, confused. 

“My Halloween alter-ego. I was still suffering the effects of the costume spell and I had no idea who I really was.” 

“But, that still doesn’t explain why Spike didn’t turn you.” 

“You taste better hot,” Spike leered quietly in words neither the watcher nor Buffy’s mother could understand. 

“Spike!” Buffy hissed, blushing ten shades of red at his lewd comment, and in front of her mother, too. “He… ahhh… liked me as I was,” she finally explained in English once she got over her embarrassment. “Honestly, though, I don’t think it ever occurred to him.” She didn’t mention that claiming her had been the last thing on his mind, and the only reason Spike had done it was to make sure that he could get back to this time… and Drusilla. “Besides, Doyle was there. He told Spike that in order to get back, he would need to claim me, and keep me safe.” 

“Doyle? The messenger? He was with you in the past?” 

“At first, yes. He got us… settled, I guess you could say… with our new identities. Then, he would visit us from time to time, at least until our purpose became clear.” She told them no more than that, not willing to put her family at risk, no matter what Doyle might have told them. Giles was her watcher, true, but he was still subject to the Council’s whim. 

“That’s all quite fascinating, Buffy, but it still doesn’t explain why you look like you haven’t aged a day, when you said yourself that you’d experienced nearly seventy-five years in the past.” 

Buffy and Spike shared a look. 

“I can always kill him later.” He spoke quietly to his wife, his tone was even, yet Buffy recognized the underlying menace. There wasn’t anything Spike wouldn’t do to keep her and the others safe. 

“He won’t betray us.” She spoke in English again, eyes boring into those of her watcher as she made that announcement, allowing him to understand the gist of their brief exchange. 

Giles, staring at the girl before him now, could believe that she had, indeed, spent the last seventy-five years in the company of vampires. Gone was the innocence that had clung to her just a few short days ago. The girl sitting before him was harder, fiercer than she’d ever been while slaying. 

“With the claim came certain benefits,” Buffy explained. “Essentially, Spike has gifted me with his immortality. As long as he’s alive, I’ll never age.” 

“That’s just…” The watcher released Joyce’s hand and whipped his glasses off, scrubbing them furiously with a handkerchief he retrieved from his pocket. “I mean…” The normally articulate man was at a loss for words. 

“So you’re going to live forever?” Joyce asked in a small voice. 

“As long as Spike is alive,” Buffy clarified. 

“But you would age naturally at that point, wouldn’t you…? I mean…” Giles began, but his voice trailed off at his slayer’s expression; there was no way she would live without Spike by her side. “Oh…” 

“Don’t worry, watcher. I don’t plan on dusting anytime soon,” he smirked. “Anything else you want to know?” 

“Can you…? I mean… Doyle didn’t exactly explain the things you’ve done. Are you allowed to…?” Giles left his semi-question hanging in the air. 

“No.” Spike’s voice was hard, unyielding. 

“It’s better that you don’t know, Giles,” Buffy added, softening the blow delivered by the vampire. “Trust me.” 

Giles nodded slowly, disappointed; the watcher in him was eager to learn all that his slayer had done to save the world throughout the ages. Though, seeing her jaded eyes staring disenchantedly back at him, he thought that maybe this one time, his not knowing would be better. 

“You’ve already met Adam and Angelina. Would you like to meet the others?” Buffy asked, desiring to change the subject. 

At Joyce’s hesitant nod, Spike stood, drawing the Slayer to her feet with him. 

“I’ll be right back, pet,” he murmured, brushing his lips along her neck. Buffy nodded and took the seat he vacated. Her eyes remained on his retreating back until he’d left the room. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Xander and Willow are eager to speak with you,” Giles announced as soon as he figured Spike was out of hearing range. 

“Yes…” Her mind conjured up images of her two friends, the dark-haired boy that had seemed only too happy to hold her close and the redheaded chatterbox who looked so endearing. “I suppose…” 

“And Angel… he’s been very worried about you,” he added. “I fear what he might attempt if you don’t—” 

“Oh, I know full well what he’ll try.” Her eyes narrowed, remembering how the enraged vampire had dared trying to separate her from Alric, even after proof had been given as to their bond. “But you are right. A meeting is necessary.” Maybe then, with her family at her side, Angel would finally get the picture. 

Spike’s return ended their brief conversation. 

Giles swallowed as the room began to fill with vampires. 

Buffy motioned the first two over and introduced them to her mother and watcher. 

“Mom, Giles… this is Marcus Devlin, the Duke of Rutherford, and his mate, Angelina,” Buffy announced. 

“I think you can leave off the title, kitten,” Marcus smirked, extending his hand to the man in front of him. “Rupert,” he greeted formally. 

“Feel like I should be bloody bowing,” Giles muttered under his breath, forgetting for a moment that vampires were possessed of excellent hearing. 

“If it makes you feel more comfortable…” Marcus smirked, and earned an elbow from Buffy. “Ouch!” 

“Behave,” Buffy snapped. Angelina smothered a chuckle. 

“What?” His innocent expression didn’t fool Buffy for one second. “I’m just saying.” 

“Go say it over there.” She pointed to the far wall, and the vampire wandered away, chuckling quietly. “Sorry about that, Giles. Marcus doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Good thing he’s got Angelina to keep him in line.” Buffy gestured to the female now standing beside her. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Giles. Or is it Rupert?” Angelina inquired. 

“Uh… either,” the watcher stammered, taking the cool, slender hand in his own.

“Mrs. Summers, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Angelina greeted, shaking the woman’s hand. 

“Joyce, please.” 

“Joyce.” 

Buffy continued to rattle off introductions until she’d worked her way through each member of her clan, offering up a random fact about each, that had they been able, would have caused the vampires to blush in embarrassment. 

“There’s one more, but she’s yet to rise.” 

“Rise?” Giles questioned, sure he’d misunderstood. 

“Yes. Jocelyn. Renee’s childe,” she explained. “You can meet her later tonight if you’d like.” 

“Do you think that’s wise, Buffy?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“Because fledglings have a hard time overcoming their initial bloodlust. Having us around might be too much temptation for her to handle.” 

“It’ll be fine, Giles. But, I’ll understand if you want to leave.” 

“No! That is… if you think it’s safe...?”

“Relax, Giles. No harm will befall you here.” 

The watcher looked around the room, taking note of the vampires that were lounging on the furnishings – those that hadn’t begged off with other things to see to. They seemed normal enough, if you could call a room full of centuries-old vampires not interested in draining him or Joyce normal. Giles smothered his brief moment of panic as his slayer walked off with her mother, leaving him alone. 

He wandered around the room for a bit, not sure what was expected of him. Clayton, Alric, and Byron were sitting down at a card table and Giles heard the distinct shuffle of cards. He eyed the group with some interest as Joseph joined them, a bottle of liquor held in his hand. 

“You want to sit in?” Clayton asked, not wanting to appear rude to their guest. 

The invitation took Giles by surprise and his feet were already moving towards the vacant spot at the card table before he could form a reply. 

A stack of chips and a half tumbler filled with amber-colored liquor was placed in front of the empty chair and Giles slid in quietly as Clayton deftly dealt five cards to each of the players. Shocked that he was playing a game of “high stakes” with a group of vampires, Giles reached out with one hand and tightly grasped the glass, bringing it shakily to his lips for a healthy swallow. 

At the taste of the blended scotch suddenly tempting his palate, he stilled, eyes closing in sublime pleasure while he swirled the liquid around in his mouth, savoring it for as long as possible before finally swallowing it down. Delighting in the slight burn in his throat and settling in his stomach.

“Bloody hell, that’s good scotch,” he exclaimed, opening his eyes to see the others at the table smirking in amusement. “So, what are we playing?” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you,” Buffy began. She was in another room, alone with her mother seated next to one another on a couch. 

“The gym in L.A.? That was because…” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry…” Joyce reached out and took her daughter’s hand in hers. “I didn’t know… When you told us… And then the clinic… Afterwards you never said anything…” 

“It’s alright. I don’t think a slayer’s parents were ever meant to know. Most girls are sequestered away as soon as their potential is realized. I was the one that fell through the cracks, so to speak.” 

“No, it’s not alright!” Joyce cried. “Buffy, I… The slip in your grades? It’s because you were sneaking out at night… risking your life… And all this time I thought…” She was openly weeping now. “I’m such a bad mother. I should have known… guessed at what my baby girl was doing.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Spike leaned against the doorjamb and frowned. He’d allowed his wife time alone with her mother by making his excuses earlier, claiming that he needed to confer with Adam on a few things. But a few hours had gone by with no sign of the Slayer. He knew how tired she was, that she’d barely slept since being brought back from the past – and not at all since returning from New York. 

As he gazed at the two women sleeping peacefully on the couch, he knew why he’d not seen Buffy walking about. 

“I don’t think she’s gonna be able to walk away.” 

Spike tore his gaze away to glare at the half-breed. 

“I didn’t lay the ground rules, you did,” he snarled. 

“I know.” The half-breed sighed. “Her mom’s not going to live forever though.” 

“So, what? Am I just supposed to put down roots here? While away the time on the Hellmouth waiting for that to happen? You’re forgetting, there’s a slayer here to see to things. Someone we take great pains to avoid. Not to mention we’ve got more important things to handle. And from what Adam tells me, the situation in England needs to be dealt with.” 

“I’m not saying that you can’t do what you do, but don’t shut Buffy’s mother out. Or her watcher. You can trust them with your secrets, Spike.” 

“I’ll think about it.” 

Spike turned back to his wife, his thoughts on his own mother, and how he’d tried, once upon a time, to keep her by his side.


	62. Chapter 62

The black car pulled up to the front entrance of the Sunnydale Mall and drew to a halt. Bob got out of the vehicle and moved towards the rear door, his eyes assessing the few people that had stopped to see if maybe some famous person might step out of the back. When Buffy, Esme, and Angelina climbed out the lurkers moved off and Bob relaxed. Not that either of the three women would need his assistance, as a long-time employee of Phoenix Enterprises the man was privy to many of the board’s secrets and knew the women could take care of themselves, but he took his job very seriously. 

“Miss Buffy, Miss Esme, Miss Gina,” he greeted in turn, offering them a hand out of the vehicle. 

“Give us a few hours, Bob,” Angelina replied, winking at their employee’s nickname for her. He was one of the few that could get away with calling her that. 

Bob nodded and shut the door. “I’ll just park. Call me on the cell when you’re ready to leave.” 

“I forgot how loud it was,” Buffy commented upon entering the mall. She was sticking with English while out in public, not wanting to draw any undue attention to herself and the others. 

“We didn’t have to go out.” 

“I know.” Buffy sighed. “But I need to do this, and it’s not like we’re going to be here long. We’ll just get a couple of things to tide us over for a few days. Besides, this is nice… us away from the guys for a few hours.” 

“Not if Spike has anything to say about it,” Esme mumbled under their breath. 

Buffy turned to the redhead and grinned, her eyes suddenly gleaming. “Who do you think it is?” 

“Who else? Scamp has come a long way…” 

Buffy smiled in memory. As the third son of a Viscount, Alric had never had to worry about the strictures that came with a title. While the others were buried under paperwork and such, overseeing their vast holdings, Alric had been kicking up his heels. His untitled status hadn’t kept him separated from the ton either. As a close friend of the future Duke of Rutherford, his acceptance was practically guaranteed. And, thanks to Adam’s assistance, the money the younger vamp had given over to invest had consistently yielded a profit, leaving him quite wealthy in his own right. Now, seeing how serious Alric had become, Buffy figured it would be worthwhile to get the vamp to lighten up a bit and have some fun. 

“What are you thinking?” Angelina asked, noting the Slayer’s devious expression. 

“What?” 

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Buffy. I may not have seen you for over a hundred years, but I remember that look.” 

“Serves him right. He acts like the three of us are not capable of dealing with whatever might come along. Talk about insulting.” Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. 

“It’s only been a few days. Spike just wants—” 

“…his ass kicked,” Buffy finished. “I told him we’d be fine.” 

Both Esme and Angelina gave up. They knew how Spike felt about the Slayer. If their sire thought he could get away with it, he’d have had all of them with her. Especially given the uncertainty of their situation. 

“So, who’s up for a little hide and seek?” Buffy asked, darting into the nearest shop. 

“One hour time limit. You have to stay inside the mall,” Esme murmured, setting the rules for the game. 

“Yeah, and you still have to get the things we came here for,” Angelina added. 

“That’s not fair. You’ll have an unfair advantage,” Buffy complained. 

“He’s not going to know that,” Angelina reasoned. 

“Alright, but you two have to buy something too. Jewelry,” she added, looking at Esme. 

“But…” 

“And, a knife,” Buffy told Angelina. 

“Talk about not playing fair.” 

Buffy grinned. “Well, I have to buy clothes. I’m just making things more even. Ready?” 

She looked at her watch. “Meet back here at 8:30. If you get caught, you have to wait out by the fountain. Agreed?” 

Angelina and Esme nodded and together, the three snuck out the back exit and into the employee access alleyway. 

~*~*~*~*~

Alric quirked his eyebrow when he saw the Slayer and her companions dart into the toy store. He paused, staring in the window of a shoe shop, pretending to contemplate entering, while he waited for her and the others to emerge. After five minutes with no sign of any of the three, he cursed and moved in that direction. 

Faint traces of the Slayer’s blood had him running down one aisle, nearly toppling a woman and her young son in his haste to get there. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, oblivious to her heated glare. 

When he got to the end of the aisle, he stopped. His gaze was drawn to the red Etch-a-sketch propped up against some stuffed animals. 

“One hour,” it said. The smiley face was signed with the slayer’s blood. He growled, licking off the three red splotches, tempted to beat her for revealing her scent like that. Then he grinned, warming to their game. 

One hour wouldn’t hurt. 

~*~*~*~*~

With only ten minutes to go, Buffy couldn’t help but grin. She’d managed to buy several pairs of pants and matching tops, not including what she’d switched into to fool Alric; two pairs of boots; several sets of lacy underwear; and an assortment of body wash, lotion, and other toiletries. Angelina was still in the game with her, but Esme was sitting at the fountain; she didn’t appear too upset, especially given the two small packages she held. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alric. He’d not spotted her yet, and she ducked back out of the way. Her back collided with someone and Buffy turned around to mumble an apology. 

It died on her tongue. 

“Angel!” 

“Hello, Buffy.” 

Suffering from the lingering effects of the spell, Buffy had barely recognized the tall, dark-haired vampire that had confronted them in the sewers. But the past few days, her memories of him, and of her friends, had slowly resurfaced. She gazed up into the sorrowful brown eyes, eyes that had once had the power to make her knees weak, and felt nothing. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I… I had to see you. Warn you.” 

“Warn me? About what?” She stood there, arms laden down with packages, gazing up at his earnest expression in confusion. Was he trying to resume his role of before? 

Surely he didn’t think that she wasn’t capable of looking out for herself. 

“About Spike.” 

Buffy’s eyes glittered dangerously at the vampire’s words, something Angel failed to realize as he rattled on about Spike’s evilness. 

“…Come on. I’ll make sure you’re safe,” he was saying and attempted to grab her wrist and take her with him. 

The knife sailed through the air and embedded itself in his hand before he could touch her, causing him to cry out in pain; his demonic features rippled briefly on his face.

Angel bit back a moan as he ripped the dagger from his hand. He looked down at Buffy, at her hardened expression, and tried to touch her again, convince her. 

“Don’t.” 

“What…?” 

“I told you before. They are my family, Angel.” 

“Better listen to the girl, or next time, it won’t be your hand I aim for.” 

Angel whirled around to see to this latest threat. The redhead was taller than Buffy by a few inches. She was garbed much the same as the slayer – jeans, t-shirt, and boots – and moved with a preternatural grace that only came with age. 

“Buffy, are you alright?” 

Buffy nodded, and Angelina returned her attention to the vampire still gripping his bleeding hand. 

“Angelus…” She sneered the name; her eyes swept over him in a quick motion, her lip curling in distaste at what she saw. “Spike never mentioned how stupid you were. Or, is it lack of respect that has you infringing on another’s property?” Angelina moved away from him and went to stand beside Buffy. 

Buffy didn’t take umbrage at Angelina’s words; she knew she was more than just Spike’s property. A lot more. But, sometimes block-headed vampires needed to have things spelled out for them in simple terms. Spike’s claim was just that – a mark of possession. One that any and all vampires were meant to respect. She was his. Eyes locked on Angel, she reached up and pulled the neck of her t-shirt away from her throat, revealing the unfading scars – as well as a few other more recent bite marks. 

“Go home, Angel. I don’t need you to save me.” 

“You heard her… leave. Or, I’ll do what Angelina did not, and demand your life as payment for your disrespect to my sire.” 

“He hadn’t actually touched her yet,” Angelina defended herself to Alric. 

Alric continued to glare at the male vampire. “There was intent.” 

“For which I did demand payment.” 

“Is this a private party, or can anyone attend?” Esme asked as she joined the others. 

“Party’s over. We’re leaving,” Alric told her. He turned away from Angel and shepherded the others away. 

“Think he’ll follow us,” Angelina asked once they neared the exit doors. 

“Not if he knows what’s good for him,” Alric growled. He pulled out his phone and dialed Bob’s number. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy took one look at her husband’s expression and turned to glare at Alric. “You told?” He just stood there, arms crossed over his chest. “You ass! You’re just mad because you couldn’t find me and I won.” 

Alric seemed to pale before her eyes and cast a fearful expression at Spike, causing Buffy to bite back the rest of her tirade. Her gaze flicked from him to Spike and back again. 

“You didn’t say anything?” 

Alric shook his head. “It was Angelina’s place. It was her dagger.” 

Buffy nodded; if she’d stopped to think about it, she would have realized that. But she’d taken one look at Spike’s expression and come out swinging. “And the other?” 

The vampire just gave her a pointed look. 

“Well, hell…” Buffy turned back to Spike; he looked ready to murder the lot of them. “It was my fault—” 

“Shut up, Slayer.” 

Buffy ignored his warning. “No! You’re not going to punish them when it was my idea.” 

“You don’t tell me what to do,” he roared. He swiveled to glare at his childe. “And you… you should know better.” 

Alric hung his head. 

“Angelus, Dru… bloody slayer’s mates… and let’s not forget this other slayer,” Spike ticked off the people with his fingers as he began to pace. “And you’re out playing fucking hide and go seek?” 

“Spike…” 

Spike stopped abruptly and pinned the Slayer with a look. 

“Buffy, you are my heart, but if you don’t close that pretty little mouth of yours, I’m going to turn you over my knee right here in front of everyone and give you the beating you deserve.” 

Her eyes flashed in retaliation, but she did like he ordered. She chanced looking at Alric and had to restrain herself from flying at him when he stuck his tongue out at her – all behind Spike’s back, of course. 

Spike, meanwhile, was going on and on, ranting about responsibility and safety and god knew what else. Buffy had tuned him out almost immediately. Her mind began to drift as she plotted out ways of getting back at the vampire beside her, and it took her a minute to realize that Spike had stopped before her, was looking at her askance. 

“Uh… sorry?” she guessed, peeking up at him from beneath her lashes. She tried to look contrite.

“You haven’t listened to a bloody thing I’ve said, have you?” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her to lie to him. 

“How much trouble will I be in if I say yes?” 

Spike’s nostrils flared, imagining the kinds of fun he could have. His eyes darkened perceptibly and he smirked at hearing the Slayer’s heart rate kick up a notch. He really _should_ punish all four of them. They’d needlessly put themselves in danger with their little stunt – the proof being the sudden appearance of Angelus without their notice. 

But then he caught another wave of his wife’s arousal, and all thought of reprimanding the four fled his mind. He dismissed Alric with a wave of his head and grinned evilly at his wife. 

Buffy took her cue and bolted for their room. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy stepped gingerly into the shower and allowed the cool water to soothe her heated backside. Her eyes narrowed when she thought she heard Spike chuckling in response to her cursing him under her breath – more for the after-sex spanking she’d received than anything else. There she’d been, basking in the afterglow, and he’d had her draped over his lap, his hand connecting loudly with her backside before she could even react. 

He’d not gone easy on her either. Dammit.

Buffy had lost count as his palm connected repeatedly with her ass, and she’d been made to suffer through his speech again. Which really sucked, because the more he talked, the angrier he got; by the end of her punishment, she’d barely been able to keep the tears at bay. To make matters worse, he’d picked her off his lap and shoved her in the direction of the shower with no after-punishment cuddle. 

Which was why she was cleaning up alone. 

Buffy snatched the shampoo bottle from the shelf and squirted some in her hand, willing herself not to be hurt by his callous treatment. 

~*~*~*~*~

Spike was determined to ignore the Slayer’s anger while she lingered in the shower. She’d earned every bit of the spanking he had meted out. More, in fact. Only, she’d long since wrapped him around her little finger and the brief punishment he’d administered had in no way matched the threat to her safety. By all rights, he should chain her to their bed until they’d left Sunnydale behind. 

Feeling the Slayer’s despondency, he pushed himself off the bed and strode into the bathroom. 

“I can feel you pouting all the way in the other room, pet,” he murmured in her ear, sliding into the shower behind her. Spike wrapped his arms around the Slayer and drew her back against his chest. He heard her indrawn breath, felt her stiffen slightly in pain as her ass rubbed against his groin, and turned her in his arms so that the cool water could soothe her skin. 

“You’re supposed to be reflecting on your behavior… alone…” he grumbled, half-heartedly. He tilted her head up and allowed the water to rinse the shampoo from her hair. When the suds had run clean, he grabbed the conditioner and worked it into her hair. He smiled when she closed her eyes and leaned into him. 

“We weren’t in any danger.” 

“Maybe not,” he allowed. Spike finished washing them both and turned off the taps. After wrapping the Slayer in a towel and securing another around his hips, he guided her back into their bedroom. 

Buffy dried herself off and grabbed one of the bags from her shopping trip earlier. She looked over at her husband and frowned. 

“What? What is it?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Don’t tell me nothing. I know you. Now tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Buffy…” 

“Is it mom?” 

“Your mother is fine. And before you ask, so are your watcher and the others. Though, when he got his first glimpse of Jocelyn and realized he knew her—” Spike chuckled at the memory of the watcher’s astonishment. He wasn’t sure, but the man had probably set a record for the number of “good lords” uttered in under a minute. 

“You’re trying to change the subject, Spike. Now I know there’s something wrong.” 

Spike walked over to the Slayer and tugged her hand so that she would sit down beside him on the edge of the bed. 

“It’s nothing yet, luv. I’m just trying to...” He raked his fingers through his damp hair. “Hell...”

“Trying to…?” Buffy prompted. 

“The watcher and I have been talking. Trying to decide what to do about you.” 

“Giles? You’ve been talking to Giles? When? What about me?” 

“Would you bloody well let me talk, pet?” 

“Sorry. It’s just… you and Giles?” 

“Wasn’t the highlight of my day, let me tell you.” 

Buffy giggled. 

“But, the man had a point, and it wasn’t anything I wasn’t already trying to figure out for myself.” 

“Figure out what?” 

“Whether or not to kill you.”


	63. Chapter 63

“Does this have something to do with why Giles hasn’t pushed me about seeing Willow and Xander these last few days?” Especially given that the first day Giles had been brought here with her mother, he’d made a point of telling her how much her friends – and Angel – had missed her. 

Spike noticed that she didn’t seem too upset over that fact. 

“Can’t put anything past you, can I, luv?” 

Buffy caught his petulant frown out of the corner of her eye and couldn’t help but snort in exasperation. After seventy-five years spent in the company of Spike and the others, there wasn’t much, if anything, that got by her, at least not for very long. She knew when he was thinking heavily on a subject, especially when it pertained to one of his own. Even more so when it had to do with her specifically. 

She got up and resettled herself on his lap, oblivious to her nakedness – though she did notice the slight flaring of Spike’s nostrils that the action elicited. Not to mention the growing bulge beneath the towel still slung about his hips. She smiled knowingly as his hands settled on her bare hips; it never failed to thrill her how fervent his response was to her nearness. But, right now they needed to talk; play time could come later. 

“I don’t know why you bother trying to keep things from me,” she told him, wrapping her arms loosely about his neck. Her hazel eyes grew suddenly serious. “It’s not like I don’t know when you’re up to something. Hell, Spike, after seventy-five years, I wouldn’t be much of a wife if I didn’t know.” 

Spike sighed. He lifted one hand to trail lightly over the mark he’d given her, the one that made her his. Her eyes closed and she leaned into his touch. 

“These marks mean you’re mine, Buffy. Mine to look after, mine to protect,” he told her. 

“I know.” Her eyes opened again. “But that doesn’t mean that I can’t be privy to your plans. You know I’m going to find out soon enough anyway. What? Do you think I’ll challenge your decisions?” 

The look in his eyes – before he quickly masked it – seemed to say as much. 

“I’ve never once—” 

Spike quirked a brow, choking off the rest of her retort. 

“Oh, come on. That doesn’t count. And, that wasn’t a decision you’d made, so much as me seeing things to their natural progression. It was long overdue, and you can’t tell me that once I forced your hand you weren’t happy with the results.” 

“Stubborn wench,” he grumbled. 

“Stubborn being the key word, not challenging. You can’t tell me since that night that I’ve ever… don’t look at me like that.” 

Her brows drew together, mimicking his frown of earlier. Spike was being deliberately obtuse, and here she was trying to be serious. 

“Fine… if you want to be that way…” 

She made to get off his lap, but his arms tightened around her waist. 

“Let me up,” she growled, narrowing her eyes. 

“No.” 

His smug look in the face of her righteous anger just fueled her ire. “Dammit, Spike!” 

She struggled to get free, pushing her hands against his chest, but it didn’t do a damn bit of good – he wasn’t going to let her go until he wanted to. Glaring at him for his high-handedness, she crossed her arms over her chest and waited. 

And waited… 

“I’ll forgive you the situation with Renee, but no, you’ve never deliberately challenged my decisions.” 

“Then why—?” 

“The watcher’s made me see that, as much as I know that you’re happy being with me, with us, some part of you needs your human family. I had to see for myself before I sought your input on the matter.”

“Then why all this talk of killing me off?” 

“Because I don’t like to think what the Council would do if they found out you’re damn near immortal. Let’s face it, slayers live on borrowed time. Without me, you would have had what? Maybe a year? Two tops?” He avoided mentioning the things he’d seen, thanks to Doyle’s interference, that she’d ended up being one of – if not the – longest lived slayers. Like the half-breed had said at the time, the visions were for his benefit alone. “It’s better this way. Rupert is inclined to agree. In fact, he’s become adamant. He doesn’t trust them for some reason, though he wouldn’t say why.” 

“Oh, so, it’s Rupert now?” Buffy smiled. 

“He’s not so bad as long as your mum’s about. And, if you bloody well tell him that I’ll bite you.” 

“But you always bite me, baby.”

Spike made to lunge for her neck, but Buffy stopped him. 

“Uh uh… I want details,” she giggled, pushing him away from her. 

“Well, hell,” he pouted. 

“Hey… serious time, remember? Killing me, big reunion… ringing any bells?” 

So Spike told her. Told her of the plan both he and the watcher had come up with, right down to the big bad she was set to go up against in a few days. 

“You’ll meet the other slayer tomorrow night, do a few patrols. Lay the ground work, so to speak. Watcher thinks you should stay with your mum for a few days, appearances and whatnot. Your mates have been led to believe that you’ve come down with something and she’s managed to hold them off thus far. But…” 

“Alright.” 

Buffy didn’t like it. But, if it was what needed to be done, she’d do it. It was only for a few days. Besides which, she knew it was doubly hard on the vampire on whose lap she was now ensconced. And, there was that whole non-challenging thing she had to consider. 

“When?” she asked. 

“Promised her I’d have you there before sunup.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy sat, curled up on the couch beneath a down comforter, staring mindlessly at the television across the room. By all rights, she should be upstairs asleep – she’d lost count of the number of times she’d yawned into her hand already. 

Her mom was in the kitchen. The fragrant smell of coffee as it was being brewed drifted out of the room, and she hoped it was the good stuff; she was going to need it if she was about to be invaded by her friends. 

“A lot of cream and two sugars, just like you like it,” Joyce told her daughter as she walked into the room and handed her the overlarge mug. 

“Thanks, mom.” 

The elder Summers smiled at her daughter. 

“I’ve got to get ready for work. I expect both Willow and Xander here shortly.” 

“I can’t believe you’re condoning them skipping school.” 

“It was that or force you to go.” 

Buffy mentally shuddered. 

“But, since I’d already informed Principal Snyder you were most likely going to be out the entire week…” 

“Good idea.” 

Buffy took a sip of her coffee and sighed happily at the extra-strong brew. A few more cups of this and she’d be able to last until at least lunchtime. Having kept vampire hours for so long, this being awake during the day really sucked. 

“You’ll be alright here? I rented a bunch of movies… I wasn’t exactly sure what to get…” her voice trailed off, her gaze briefly flitting to the channel her daughter was watching. Well, not so much watching, but Joyce could tell that Buffy easily understood the foreign language being spoken. Was it only days ago that she was praying her daughter would pass her history test? 

“Whatever you picked up is fine, mom,” Buffy assured her. If nothing else, the movies would help fill in, what she was sure to be, a lot of awkward silences. 

Joyce leaned down and gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead. 

“Well, have fun. There’s stuff in the refrigerator if you guys get hungry.” 

“Thanks.” 

Buffy watched her mom climb the stairs, then turned back to the TV. She listened for a bit longer before reaching for the remote and changing it to a channel her friends thought she might watch. Five minutes later, she was nearly asleep, the sound of the singing mermaid enough to induce her to coma. 

The doorbell ringing jerked her upright, and Buffy set aside her coffee so that she could get up and let her friends in. 

~*~*~*~*~

Xander nearly salivated at the movies sitting on the coffee table. Having both Willow and Buffy with him, he’d expected to spend the day sitting through dreaded “chick flicks,” but was pleasantly surprised. 

“You say your mom picked these out, Buff?” 

“Yeah, since finding out I’m the slayer…” Buffy shrugged. “I guess she figured my tastes ran more towards action adventure. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I get enough of that at night. Although, these aren’t bad, really.” 

_Murder at 1600, ConAir, Air Force One_ … they were all good to Xander. Though, _Men in Black_ had him chuckling for some reason. Probably something to do with the fact that the movie touted man’s unawareness of aliens coexisting peacefully on Earth. Almost like no one knew that demons were real. Funny really. 

“So, what do you want to watch first?” he asked. 

“It doesn’t matter. You pick,” the slayer told him. 

“Hmmm… Harrison Ford or Nicolas Cage…” Xander grabbed _Air Force One_ out of its case and put it in the VCR. 

“I can’t believe Giles suggested we skip school today,” Willow commented. “Not that I’m complaining though,” she rushed to reassure her friends before she was subject to “the look.” “I’m all for a movie night, or day, as the case may be. It’s just… skipping school…?” 

Xander, who had settled at their feet on the floor next to the couch, snorted. “That’s just because you’re you, Wills.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she cried, snagging a piece of popcorn out of the bowl resting on her lap and throwing it at his head. 

Xander smiled indulgently, pulling the stray kernel from his hair and popping it in his mouth. 

“You’re the only one I know that complains about not going to school. Me, I like living on the wild side.” He wiggled his eyebrows, causing Willow to giggle. 

Buffy just sipped her coffee, saying nothing, staring intently at the opening credits of the movie Xander had selected. 

~*~*~*~*~

“There’s something different about her,” Willow whispered to Xander. Buffy had fallen asleep not too long ago, giving Willow a chance to talk with her friend. 

“Giles did say that she’s been suffering the lingering effects of the spell that brought her back,” Xander mentioned, his voice just as quiet. 

“For four days? I’ve been reading… I’ve never heard of a spell with that kind of effect.” 

“So, what are you saying?” 

“I don’t know… it’s just… she hasn’t talked to us… told us what happened. I thought we were supposed to be best friends.” 

“Wills, she was stuck in the past with Spike. I’m sure it was pretty traumatic for her. Bringing it up, probably not much with the helping right now.” 

“I suppose so. But, that’s what friends do…” She couldn’t help complain at being kept out of the loop. Buffy was always quick to talk with her. Now, she’d been lucky to get two words from her friend. 

“I’m sure she will in time. Once she’s had a chance to process it. For now, just cut her some slack, alright?” 

Willow nodded reluctantly, then returned her attention back to the movie. Though, she did glance often towards her slumbering friend. Noticing the way Buffy seemed to curl in on herself, rather than stretch out on the couch while she slept. Even in sleep, she was keeping her distance. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

While Buffy was busy upholding her part of the plan, Spike spent his time seeing to the details of their departure. Jocelyn’s turning couldn’t have come at a better time since it afforded them an inconspicuous place to stay on such short notice. Plus, it would help squash the rumors that had circulated about the disappearance of the Countess of Hastings from New York. Rumors that had him ready to fly back to the city with the chit, because nothing short of her reemergence would seem to end them. Which was why they were spending a day – or night, as the case may be – in New York before making the transatlantic flight. 

It would also afford them a chance to box up what Renee had thought might be incriminating evidence about the clan, though Spike didn’t think that was the case. There was no way that anyone knew of their existence. 

Staring up at the monitors and seeing the sun high up in the sky, Spike knew he should be sleeping. But, the thought of going to his room alone… it left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Maybe a spot of violence would do him some good. 

He glanced around in his chair, looking for a likely candidate. The main area was deserted, but Spike could hear noise coming from their entertainment room. The sound of one particular vamp’s laugh caught his attention, and his eyes narrowed menacingly. 

Spike rose from his chair, every inch the predator as he made his way towards the room – and his intended victim. When he stood in the doorway, everyone seemed to still, sensing his presence. 

Seeing his sire standing there, Alric knew that his reprieve was over. With Buffy gone, the vampire needed a distraction, and after the events of last night, he just knew that he’d be the one to provide it.

Sure enough, those deep blue eyes centered on him. 

“Feel up to a little one-on-one, Alric?” 

Alric wasn’t dumb. He knew better than to say no. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Bye, mom,” Buffy called out as she let herself out the front door. 

“Be careful,” Joyce called from the kitchen. 

“I will.” 

She shut the door, spared a smirk for whoever happened to be eyeing the monitors, then started walking towards her watcher’s house. The dark seemed to envelop her, and she felt almost at home. The impromptu lie-in with Xander and Willow hadn’t been too bad, if you discounted the awkward silences in between movies – oh, and that time they’d been fixing lunch. She’d pretended not to notice Xander’s look, or the slight shake of his head, when Willow made to open her mouth as the three stood in the kitchen making their sandwiches. Pretending an eagerness for the next movie, she’d hurried the pair along, trying to inject a bit of the old Buffy in her tone. 

Willow had smiled, apparently appeased, but she’d noticed that Xander hadn’t been too convinced. 

It had been a long afternoon.

After they’d left, Buffy had stretched out on the couch and fallen asleep, only to wake once her mom came home from work. The four hours of sleep hadn’t been much, but she’d survived on less. And, it wasn’t like the others would actually let something get close enough to her to pose a problem. 

Maybe she could use the time wandering the cemeteries getting to know her sister slayer. 

At her watcher’s door, she turned around and spoke softly. 

“I don’t even have to tell you the trouble you’ll be in if this slayer gets wind of you.” 

No one answered her, not that she expected anyone would. Really, she wasn’t sure why she was worried. Her clan was adept at being invisible. But, this was the closest any of them had been to a slayer, besides her. 

Buffy glared for good measure, to make sure whoever was out there knew she meant business, then turned around and knocked on Giles’ door. 

It opened immediately, her watcher looking at her somewhat relieved. 

“Buffy! So glad you’re feeling better,” Giles greeted, ushering his charge inside. “Come. I’d like you to meet… Kendra.” 

Buffy quirked her brow at her watcher’s pregnant pause, wondering what it was about the girl that seemed to have him so flustered. 

“Buffy, this is Kendra. She’s staying here for a few days until more suitable arrangements can be made.” 

“Hello.” Buffy affected a wave, and got the arms-akimbo-quirked-brow look, coupled with an incoherent grunt, in response. 

“So? Patrolling, Giles?” Buffy’s voice was overly bright. 

“Er… yes. Patrolling. Very good.” 

Buffy led the girl out the front door and started towards the closest cemetery. 

“Pretty weird, huh? Two slayers…” Buffy began, hoping the night wouldn’t be spent in complete silence. For a while there, she didn’t think the girl would answer, but then finally she received another stilted response. 

“It is… strange, yes,” Kendra replied in her heavily accented voice. 

“One girl in all the world, and suddenly there’s two. Bet that’s one for the diaries.” 

As they walked through the front gate of Restfield, the two girls shared a look, smiling slightly in amusement at their watchers’ propensity for writing things down. That there were two Chosen Ones probably had everyone at Council Headquarters scribbling furiously. 

They were maybe a handful of steps inside the cemetery when Buffy suddenly stopped. Her eyes darted back and forth, sensing something amiss, and she wondered if Alric sensed it too. If he’d snuck off to take care of whatever was making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. 

She continued walking, pleased when she saw Kendra pull out her stake and handle it with a bit of skill. The further they walked into the cemetery the more apprehensive Buffy became. Something was out there tracking their movements. 

And, whatever it was… well, it was doing a damn good job of evading Alric. 

Buffy stopped suddenly and whirled to the right. 

A woman glided from behind a tree, the dress she wore a style from years gone past. She seemed to dance to music heard only in her head, arms and legs graceful, like that of a ballerina. Her pale face looked like that of an angel. 

But Buffy knew better. 

She knew she was getting her first glimpse of Spike’s sire. And she froze, unable to actually harm the vampire that had made him. 

Her indecision would cost her. 

Screeching about bad little girlies and ruined tea parties, Drusilla launched herself at the two slayers, amber eyes burning with deadly intent.


	64. Chapter 64

The phone had only rung once in his ear before Adam’s voice was telling him that Spike and several of the others were already on their way. That their sire had sensed Buffy’s distress. Alric hung up without having uttered a word, his hand automatically reaching for his sword.

Staring at the three before him, Alric was torn.

Did he reveal himself and have to contend not only with the new slayer, but with Spike’s sire as well? Should he do nothing and wait to see what Drusilla wanted?

Before he could make a decision one way or another, Alric sensed someone else approaching. Out of the corner of his eye, he recognized the faint outline of Angel as he raced towards Drusilla and the two slayers, cursing under his breath when the vamp caught sight of him – though his face bore no hint of recognition – and changed directions to engage him.

Buffy cried out and Alric’s attention was immediately diverted back to her, ready to intercede on her behalf at Drusilla’s attack. He’d taken a step, maybe two in her direction, when the full weight of Angel slammed into his back sending them both to the ground, where the two rolled over each other, both trying to gain the dominant position. 

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy barely had time to think Spike’s name before Drusilla was upon them. She’d been led to believe Spike’s sire was ill and barely lucid, but right now, that seemed furthest from the truth.

What made matters worse was that she _was_ Spike’s sire, and some small part of Buffy was telling her not to hurt her. So rather than stake her outright, Buffy toyed with her without trying to make it obvious to Kendra, trying to lure her away from the other slayer – whom she hoped was running fast and furious in the opposite direction.

Drusilla seemed to know it too, her eyes alight with maniacal glee. It finally cost Buffy a trio of slash marks across her cheek, the blow sending her backwards over a headstone she’d lost sight of, knocking the wind out of her when she landed flat on her back.

Giving Drusilla just the time she needed to engage the other slayer, who foolishly thought she was strong enough, experienced enough, to take her on.

Kendra raised her stake ready to strike.

Drusilla weaved before the girl, instantly morphing back into her human mask. Blue eyes stared into brown, lulling the second slayer into a sense of complacency.

“Look at me, dearie,” Drusilla urged, swaying to and fro.

Kendra was powerless to resist; her movements began to unconsciously mimic the gentle sway of the vampire’s, the stake she’d held gripped tight in her hand going slack until the sharpened wood fell, forgotten, to the grass.

“Be… in my eyes. Be… in me…”

Drusilla smiled when the slayer’s eyes lost focus and glazed over. She moved in, smelling the sweet tang of innocence and power that was now hers. As she lowered her head to the girl’s neck, her demonic features rippled into place. Fangs sank deep into dark-skinned flesh, drinking greedily of the sweet elixir that was slayer blood.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy roused herself from her position on the ground in time to see Kendra slide free from Drusilla’s grasp into a heap upon the grass, her eyes open and unseeing. A bellow of rage tore from her lips and she launched herself at Drusilla, uncaring now that she was Spike’s sire.

Though she’d barely known the other slayer, some part of her had bonded with the girl. Maybe it was that they were alike. Both Chosen. A calling that neither had asked for but both had tried to fulfill to the best of their abilities.

Tears for the fallen girl came unbidden, blurring her vision. Her anger at Kendra’s death made her hasty, made her discount all those years spent training. Drusilla’s blood-smeared lips added fuel to the fire, taunting her.

Buffy threw a series of punches which the other easily dodged.

The last one was caught by Drusilla, and she held Buffy’s hand immobile, enabling her to deliver a backhanded blow that sent Buffy reeling.

Shaking the cobwebs from her head, Buffy looked up and suddenly realized Alric was there, and that Angel seemed to be attacking him again. She made to go after the pair, intent only on reaching Angel and shoving him away from Alric, but Drusilla prevented that from happening.

The kick to her ribs sent her headlong into another headstone, the sound of bone meeting cement was eclipsed by the incensed growl that seemed to envelop the cemetery. Concussed, eyes unable to focus, Buffy failed to see the black blur that flew past and engaged her tormentor.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel had his knee in the back of the unknown vampire. He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled his head off the ground so that he could see his face.

“You!” he growled.

Alric, who had been cursing long and loud at the vampire that had tackled him, took advantage of Angel’s momentary surprise and managed to twist enough so that his back was on the ground.

“Off!” Alric ground out, maneuvering his feet so that he could send Angel flying back over his head. He paid no attention as the vampire easily rolled to his feet and assumed a defensive stance. No, his eyes were only for his slayer. He vaulted to his feet, ready to attack the vampiress that had dared kick Buffy, but the sound of his sire’s bellow of rage stayed his hand.

With that avenue of vengeance cut off, he turned towards the ensouled vampire. Pausing only long enough to pull off his sword and laying in carefully on top of a tombstone, Alric ran towards Angel and punched him in the face.

Angel staggered under the force of it, just barely managing to keep his balance and remain upright.

“Stupid vampire!” he yelled. “This is all your fault!”

Another punch. An uppercut. Followed quickly by a roundhouse kick to the vampire’s stomach.

Then it started over again, deadly punches and kicks, until Angel’s face was a bruised and bloody mess and he was barely able to stand.

Alric wanted nothing more than to stake the bastard for interfering yet again, for keeping him from his duty to look after Buffy, but she called his name. Hearing her pain-filled voice, Alric almost did it anyway. He stood there, his body heaving in righteous indignation, looking down his nose at the beaten vampire swaying unsteadily on his feet. Then with a snarl of disgust, he pivoted on his heel.

And stopped.

His foot shot out in a back kick, sending the vampire flying into a tree. Alric heard the distinct sound of cracking ribs and smiled. He didn’t bother to turn around and watch as Angel crumpled to the ground where he lay unmoving. His slayer needed him, and he retrieved his sword from where he’d left it before hurrying to her side.

“You look like hell, Buffy,” Alric told her, attempting to smile to cover his worry. He knelt down beside her and carefully lifted her into his arms. She winced and Alric did too, murmuring an apology for inadvertently hurting her.

“Can you…?” The slayer gestured to her face and the three gouges that oozed with blood. “I don’t want him to see.”

“Bit late for that, sweets,” he told her, but did like she asked anyway. He drew his tongue along the marks, lapping at the blood and stemming its flow.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike didn’t allow himself to think as he threw himself at Drusilla. As crazy as she was, she should have known better than to attack what was clearly marked his. It was that insult that he could not allow, no matter that she was his sire.

He slammed into her, sending them both to the ground. Though he was prepared and easily vaulted back to his feet while she was left floundering in her long dress. She raised wounded eyes to look up at him, and at any other time, would have had him rushing to her side, begging for forgiveness.

“Spike?” she whimpered in that pitiful tone of hers.

Spike stiffened but made no move to assist her.

Drusilla stared at her childe. Only he wasn’t. There was something _off_ about him – his smell. She hissed, catching the scent of slayer. Her eyes narrowed and she pushed herself off the ground. Miss Edith had warned her, told her that her sweet William would be lost to her. That coming to the Hellmouth would be a mistake. But she’d been too weak to offer up any kind of protest. Her childe had gotten word that the Slayer had been here, and he’d been adamant about killing her. Fresh off his kill, he’d then allow her to feed from him, confident that slayer blood would heal her.

In truth, it hadn’t been slayer blood that she’d needed, but sire’s blood. Angel had gifted her with it, trying to calm her from her keening wails. Hoping that once she’d reached a semi-lucid state, she would tell him about Spike… and the Slayer.

It always came back to the Slayer. She’d usurped Drusilla’s position with both vampires, one eager to protect the girl, the other having claimed her for life. Her lip curled in disgust, before it evened out and she’d let her human mask fall back into place.

“Spike? Let me kill her, Spike. She’s done something to you… taken away my dark knight. Let mommy make it better…”

Spike didn’t show any outward reaction to her proposal, but inside he was consumed with a seething rage, tempered with a hint of sadness that his sire wouldn’t see, couldn’t acknowledge, the Slayer’s place in his life.

That to kill Buffy was to kill him.

Drusilla made a move towards the Slayer when Spike made no objections, but stiffened when her arm was grabbed in a vice-like grip. She smiled wickedly, then snapped her teeth together in a mock-bite, figuring his brutal handhold as he brought her flush against his chest was a bit of foreplay before the main event – her Spike had always liked it rough. Drusilla leaned in to devour her childe’s lips, only to still, her eyes going wide in shock, when the tip of something sharp pushed into her chest.

Right where her unbeating heart lay.

“Spike?” Her face showed her confusion.

“Sorry, Princess.” Then he rammed the stake home before he could convince himself otherwise, killing the sire that had been his salvation. Her body exploded into dust, her shocked expression something that would haunt him for a long while to come.

~*~*~*~*~

Barely conscious, Angel still felt the bond he had with Drusilla abruptly disappear. Swollen lips parted on an inhuman moan, signaling his grief for the childe whose life had been taken. Though cursed with a soul that had kept them apart, her evilness causing him too much heartache for him to remain by her side, Drusilla had been of his making.

His demon howled within the confines of his mind. His soul just prayed she was finally at peace.

He heard the sound of approaching footsteps and struggled to rise, knowing that he was a sitting duck just lying there wounded like he was. His ribs protested his movements, so did the rest of his body. Though he knew he could have been worse off.

The vampire could have used his sword.

Angel had known the second he’d caught sight of the vampire that he’d made a mistake. He’d foolishly thought that Spike’s childe was one of Drusilla’s minions, bent on helping her with the two slayers. It had been Angel’s fault that Buffy had been hurt, her cry of pain as she suffered under Drusilla’s assault making him curse his stupidity. Which was why he’d not bothered to defend himself against the vampire. Though, reflecting on the other’s skill, even if he _had_ tried to fight back, it wouldn’t have done much good.

Angel knew when he was outclassed.

And Spike’s childe far exceeded his own skill at hand-to-hand combat.

Finally on his feet, Angel swayed for a bit, his legs threatening to give way. One of his eyes was swollen shut, the other allowed him to see things in twos and threes… and blurry at that. At least, he thought he was seeing double.

Until they got closer, and he could make out male from female, blonde hair from red from brown.

Spike’s childer. The family Doyle had told him about.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike bypassed Buffy, knowing that if he got a look at her, he’d snap. He stalked straight towards Angelus, almost positive that the elder vampire was at fault – his sire never knew when to stop.

Seeing the condition of Angelus, he couldn’t help but throw an approving look towards Alric; his childe had surely done a number on him. His face was barely recognizable, thanks to all the bruises and cuts. His gelled hair had seen better days, filled as it was now with clumps of dirt and grass, not to mention being kinked in places from the blood oozing from his wounds.

“I should kill you, but I’ve been told by Doyle that you’ll actually do some good in Los Angeles,” Spike told him.

“Sorry,” Angel managed to draw enough air into his lungs to get the apology out. And he was sorry too. He’d let his jealousy for Spike blind him to the truth. He glanced around warily through one eye taking in the group of vampires standing so docilely in a semi-circle behind Spike, knowing that at a nod from him they would turn lethal and stake Angel in an instant.

Spike stared at Angelus, his one-time mentor and tormentor. He felt his childer tense, waiting for the word that would enable them to demand justice for the repeated insult done by the vampire.

It never came.

Spike turned and walked away, proving to Angelus once and for all, that he was no longer the inferior vampire.

His wife was hurt, though not severely, but with the other slayer now dead, their timetable for “killing” Buffy had been pushed up.

A lot.


	65. Chapter 65

Marcus saw the direction his sire was taking and galvanized the others into action.

It was time.

He sent Clayton back to the warehouse to retrieve the two vials they’d procured for Buffy. He made Joseph and Byron take Angel home; Spike had spared the vampire’s life, so it wouldn’t do to leave him bloodied and barely conscious in the cemetery where anyone could happen along and take advantage of his weakened condition. Esme and Derrick saw to the second slayer, taking her lifeless body to Buffy’s watcher where he could deal with the ramifications of her unexpected death, and help lay the groundwork for Buffy’s disappearance.

“I’ll get Joyce,” Angelina told her mate, laying a hand on his arm. “I’m sure she’ll want to be there.”

Marcus nodded and watched until she’d disappeared from sight. Then he set off after Spike and Buffy, quickly catching up to Alric as the vamp saw to the couple’s protection. While Alric kept an eye out for anything that might pose a problem, Marcus pulled the secure phone from his pocket and started coordinating their departure from Sunnydale with Adam.

“Clayton is on his way to you for the vials,” Marcus told Adam once he’d answered the phone. “Drusilla took out the other slayer, and it looks like Spike’s upped the timetable for Buffy. Call Steve and have them get the jet ready for Renee and Jocelyn.”

“Alright. Marcus, what the hell happened?”

“I haven’t got all the details yet, but when I do, I’ll call you back.”

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy could feel Spike’s anguish, though he tried valiantly to hide it behind an inscrutable mask as he carried her away from the cemetery. “I’m sorry, Spike.”

“It’s alright, luv,” he told her, eyes trained straight ahead.

“No it’s not. She was your sire. I just... I couldn’t... But you…” She couldn’t say the words. What he’d done was nearly unheard of. Dusting one’s sire?

“Dusted her,” he finished for her. “Buffy, I…”

Spike looked down at the Slayer then, his eyes unusually moist. When he’d seen Drusilla standing above Buffy…

And Buffy, his beautiful, _stupid_ wife, unwilling to defend herself against his crazed sire – when she could have done so quite easily.

In that split second before he reacted, Spike’s emotions had run the gamut – shock, outrage, fear. Anger unlike anything he’d ever felt before consumed him – that Drusilla, much like Angelus, hadn’t respected his mark upon the Slayer’s neck. But it had been fear on Buffy’s behalf that had him hurtling towards his sire, knocking her away from the Slayer.

Spike’s arms tightened about Buffy and he hugged her tight against his chest, holding her like that until he’d nearly reached the hospital. He ducked into a darkened alley, Marcus hot on his heels; Alric stopped at the entrance and stood guard.

“Clayton should be here momentarily with the vials,” Marcus told his sire, his voice barely above a whisper.

Spike nodded and set the Slayer on her feet.

The thought of injecting the two drugs into the Slayer’s system didn’t sit well with Spike. Especially given the lethal doses of both. But, Giles had insisted that the easiest way to give credence to Buffy’s death was to have her declared legally dead by hospital personnel. And the drugs wouldn’t kill her. The rational part of him whispered that the only way the Slayer could die was if he dusted, but there was that other part, especially when he’d been told how they would work on her system. How they’d fool the human doctors into thinking she’d died.

A soft whistle sounded from Alric and the three turned to see Clayton striding into the alley. The vampire held out the vials to his sire, but Spike just stared at them.

“Do you want me to do it?” Clayton asked of his sire.

And still Spike’s gaze remained transfixed.

_‘They won’t kill her,’_ Spike reminded himself, albeit unsuccessfully.

The thought of having her heart stop, her breathing as well, if only for just a little while, was enough to send him into a panic.

“It’s alright, Spike. I can’t die… remember?” Buffy rubbed her thumb over the ridges that had yet to disappear, trying to soothe him as best she could. “Clayton…”

Clayton took that has his cue, and he pulled the first medicine into the syringe. Though he’d told his sire he’d do it, his hands still shook when he lowered the needle to her arm.

“It’s alright, Clayton,” she tried to reassure him. “Just do it.”

“You’re gonna feel a pinch, and you’re gonna get dizzy, almost immediately. Marcus… be ready.” He turned to his sire. “Maybe you should go inside…”

Spike seemed to come out of his daze at being addressed.

“It’s alright, sire,” Marcus told him. “I’ll bring her in just as soon as she…”

“Yeah… alright.”

Maybe it _would_ be better for him not to be there. Though they were his childer and were following his instructions, they were still attacking what was his, and he didn’t think his demon would actually stand by and watch it happen without retaliating.

“I’ll be fine, Spike,” Buffy assured him.

Spike pulled the Slayer close and devoured her mouth. She was just getting into the swing of things when he abruptly pulled away and stalked off, out of the alley and towards one of the rear exits where he sneaked inside the hospital undetected.

“Ok. Let’s get this done,” she told the two.

~*~*~*~*~

“Somebody help me!” Marcus shouted as he burst into the Emergency Room. In his arms was the Slayer, a gaping wound in her neck. Even knowing that she couldn’t die, that she was tied to his sire, the emotion that he exhibited as he yelled for help was real. Her suppressed heart beat and seeming lack of breath were enough to make him want to actually get someone to fix her. To “bring her back to life”.

She was stripped from his hands and hustled out of the waiting room and Marcus forced himself not to growl. He made to follow but was stopped by a nurse with a hand to his chest.

“You can’t go in there.”

“But—”

“I’m sorry. You _can’t_ go in there.”

Then the nurse stepped through the double doors, leaving Marcus listening to the whistles and bells of the machines the medical staff used to try and resuscitate the Slayer.

“Sir? Sir?”

Marcus turned away from the door and looked down at the nurse. Confusion marred his features.

“I’m Mrs. Henderson, the admissions nurse. Can you… can you answer some questions for me?”

“Yeah… yeah, sure. Not sure how much help I’ll be though.”

The nurse led him to a semi-private area and sat down at her computer.

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“I… I just found her. Outside. I was walking by and something in the bushes caught my attention. I walked over and found her just lying there.”

“So, you don’t know the victim?”

“No.”

“Oh… well, ok then.”

“I did manage to get this though.” He held up a change purse. “Just shoved it in my pocket when I picked her up. Didn’t look through it to see if there was anything identifying inside…”

Marcus handed the nurse Buffy’s tiny wallet and watched as she opened it and retrieved the Slayer’s school identification.

“Buffy Summers,” she murmured. She turned to her computer and punched in the name. “Oh, good… she’s been here before.”

“So, you can call her family?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Is she going to be ok?” he asked.

“I’m sorry. I can’t discuss…”

“Right… of course. I just… you know.” He shrugged his shoulders and offered her a slight smile.

“Yes, I do. It was a brave thing you did, bringing her in. Now… if you’ll excuse me, I need to make some calls…”

Marcus nodded at the woman and stood. He wended his way through the rows of chairs in the waiting room and walked out the double doors, quickly disappearing into the night. There was much to be done, and not a lot of time in which to do it. Adam was going to need help seeing to the details, and Spike and the others would keep things well in hand.

Plus, he didn’t trust his sire not to take a chunk out of his hide once he got a good look at Buffy’s neck.

~*~*~*~*~

Joyce was waiting for the call when it came. But even so, she still jumped when the phone rang.

Beside her, Angelina took her hand, attempting to comfort the Slayer’s mother.

“Remember… she’s tied to Spike,” Angelina told Joyce once she’d hung up the phone. “Whatever you see, whatever you hear…”

“I know.” Joyce swiped hastily at the tears already running down her cheeks. “It’s just… I thought I had some time yet.”

Joyce was properly frantic when the nurse told her about what had happened to Buffy, made worse when the woman wouldn’t give her any indication as to her daughter’s condition. With reassurances that she was on the way, Joyce quickly hung up the phone and turned to the redhead standing next to her.

“Come on… we’d better get to the hospital,” Angelina told her. “Are you alright to drive?”

“Yes…”

Joyce took a deep, calming breath and grabbed her purse and keys off the kitchen counter. Together, she and Angelina arrived at the hospital in record time. 

“Are you not coming in?” Joyce asked when Angelina just stood there outside the Jeep.

Angelina shook her head. “No. After… after you see Buffy… Giles will come. He’ll know what to do.”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you? Once…”

“Yes.” Angelina walked up to the woman and laid a reassuring hand on the woman’s shoulder. She liked Joyce, and didn’t want to see her in any pain if she could help it. “Don’t worry. You’ve not seen the last of us.”

“Promise?” Joyce’s voice shook when she asked the question.

“I promise.” Seeing that she wasn’t convinced, Angelina elaborated. “Maybe, after Buffy’s funeral, you’ll want to take a vacation. Maybe that handsome watcher might ask you to come along. He has to give his final report to the Council, and just might wish to settle in England. He’ll show you the sights… and you’ll come to appreciate the art… its history. A chance meeting with a wealthy benefactor… who knows the possibilities…?”

Joyce stared at Angelina, tears in her eyes. She nodded, indicating she understood.

“Good. Now, I must go.”

“Goodbye. Angelina? Tell Buffy… tell my daughter that I love her.”

“I will. Now, hurry.”

Joyce nodded again and hurried towards the Emergency Room doors.

“Oh… and Joyce?” Angelina called out. When Joyce stopped and turned around, she called out. “Giles? He’s not a bad guy… for a human.”

Joyce found her first smile.

“No… no, he isn’t.”

~*~*~*~*~

“Call it.”

“Time of death, 8:43 p.m.”

A nurse reached over and shut off the monitors, and the straight line that indicated Buffy’s unbeating heart disappeared. The staff took a moment, each looking down at the girl that appeared to have been attacked by a wild dog and had her neck torn out, her pale, lifeless body mocking their frenzied attempts to resuscitate her. Each offered up a quick prayer for the girl, then, like the hardened medical personnel they were, one of them stoically covered the body with a white sheet and they all filed out of the room.

It was a full moon, and accidents in Sunnydale seemed to abound more so on this night than any other.

~*~*~*~*~

It rained the day of Buffy Summers’ memorial service. The church was packed with kids from Sunnydale High – not because of any shared fondness for the blonde, but because it was held on a Friday, during school hours. The only two – possibly three – students that showed any type of emotion were clustered in a small group in the front pew along with Buffy’s mother.

Joyce had had her daughter cremated immediately following the mandatory twenty-four hour waiting period. The massive blood loss the girl had suffered had provided the proof of her demise, and an autopsy hadn’t been warranted.

She stared straight ahead in her pew, her eyes locked on the smiling photo of her daughter that was placed on a table next to the urn of ashes. Tears slipped silently down her cheeks, her fingers anxiously twisting the handkerchief held in her hand, not because her daughter was, in fact, dead, but because she knew Buffy was gone – away from Sunnydale with Spike and the others. It was hard letting her little girl go, and it was only Angelina’s promise that gave her the courage to get through this charade.

~*~*~*~*~

Xander sat between Cordelia and Willow, his arm wrapped comfortingly around the redhead while she cried profusely on his shoulder. He was numb. After being told by Giles that Drusilla had killed not only the newly arrived slayer, Kendra, but Buffy as well, he’d seemed to shut down emotionally. He’d harbored a not-so-secret crush on the blonde, and hoped that with her being back in the present, he could perhaps get her to notice him in the not-just-friends kind of way. Help her slowly cope with what he was sure had to have been a traumatic experience at the hands of Spike. Now his hopes were forever dashed, the dream of being something more to Buffy just that. A dream.

Buffy was the second person he’d cared about to be lost to the creatures of the night. Rage at the unfairness of it all consumed him, and his arm tightened reflexively around Willow’s shoulder. He felt her flinch and looked down at her to mouth a silent apology. Her head lifted, her pale face awash with tears, silently imploring him to make it better. That what they were doing right now wasn’t really happening – the two of them sitting there quietly while a priest waxed poetically about the departing of one of God’s children, how Buffy Summers had moved on to a better place.

“Xan?” she mouthed.

Xander didn’t know what to say, or really, what to do. He lowered his head to give Willow a brief, reassuring kiss, a brotherly show of support and affection – and was rocked by the sudden jolt of electricity that seemed to run through them both when their lips touched. He quickly pulled away to stare in wonder at his lifelong friend, and was even more puzzled to see the same look of wonderment in her eyes. Neither moved for a space of a moment or two, but then Xander smiled… hesitantly.

And felt a giddy thrill go through him when Willow blushed and smiled back.

He turned away finally and concentrated once more on what the priest was saying, but not before he’d coaxed Willow’s head back to his shoulder, his grip slightly more possessive than before.

When the sermon was finished and everyone began to file out, he looked at Buffy’s picture one last time and wished her a silent goodbye. Then he grasped Willow’s hand in his and led her out of the church and into the downpour outside.

~*~*~*~*~

Angel had snuck inside the church unnoticed, everyone’s attention trained on the priest preaching from the pulpit. Not since turning Drusilla had he dared to step inside so holy a place. Well, not since having his soul thrust upon him.

He wasn’t even sure why he’d come. Maybe he was hoping to catch one final glimpse of the girl he loved. And Spike, whom he’d begrudgingly come to respect.

“They’re not here.”

Angel glanced to his right to see Doyle walking quietly towards him. He sighed heavily.

“Where—?”

“Uh uh…” Doyle cut him off. “Spike spared you because we’re friends and I asked him to. I won’t jeopardize that friendship by telling you where they are. Now, if you were to find out on your own… well… for one thing, it would be because they _let_ you… and because Spike realizes that you are family, however loosely associated now. But I’d give it some time for him to cool off before you start looking for them… say… a hundred years or so.”

Angel snorted, but nodded.

“I take it you’re not here to pay your last respects to the departed slayer,” Angel commented after a time.

“Are you kidding? Places like this? Gives me the willies! It’s all I can do to keep the spikes hidden.” Doyle shuddered dramatically, pulling a reluctant smirk from Angel. “Come on… there’s a pub not far from here. We can slip out before anyone notices and you can buy me a pint or two. We can talk about your leaving.”

“Leaving?”

“Los Angeles? City of Angels? Remember? It’s just the place for a vampire by the same name. Spike’s not the only one with a destiny, Angel.”


	66. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler's for "For Love of a Wolf: Alric's Story"

“What the bloody hell was I thinking?! I mean, it’s not like I’m some spring hatchling fresh from the nest…” His voice trailed off, and the three males lounging around the watcher’s study couldn’t help but smirk as the man lifted a full tumbler of Armagnac to his lips, nearly spilling half the contents because his hands were shaking profusely.

Giles looked at Spike, Marcus, and Derrick – the only males brave enough to ride out Joyce’s labor in his home. Oh, who was he kidding? They were there to make his life miserable since they’d been dragged here, probably kicking and screaming – and wouldn’t _that_ have been a sight to see – by their respective women to help his wife with the birth of their baby girl. His eyes narrowed at their smug expression. “It’s for medicinal purposes,” he told them before taking a healthy swig.

“Uh huh,” Spike snorted and rolled his eyes. “What are you doing down here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be up yonder, holding the missus’ hand and whatnot?”

“They kicked me out,” Giles muttered under his breath, and had Spike not been possessed of vampiric hearing, he would have missed it – so, too, would the others.

“Can’t say it’s such a bad thing,” Marcus commented. Having heard Joyce’s moans that announced her imminent delivery, he could well understand the watcher wanting to absent himself from the room. Probably didn’t help matters that said room was full of women, either.

“I’m not a sissy, I’ll have you know! I’ve faced down worse situations than this!”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Rupes. Just sayin’ is all,” Marcus hurried to reassure the man.

“Well,” the watcher puffed his chest out. “I helped create that baby. It’s not like I don’t know the goings on. Bloody hell, it was only a little water! Natural in the grand scheme of things. You’d think the Queen mum was coming to pay a visit with the way I was ushered from the room so my wife could be primped. Like she’s not going to get dirty all over again once...”

The three vampires shared a look; the watcher was on a roll.

“…been witness to countless demon slayings! Seen worse things than a sodden dressing gown.”

A knock at the door interrupted his tirade.

“She’s asking for you—”

_“Rupert, get your British ass up here right now or so help me…!”_

“I stand corrected,” Angelina remarked drolly. “She’s bellowing for you.”

Giles face flamed and he ran a shaky hand through his unkempt hair. “She’s… uh… not herself…”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, watcher,” Spike remarked. “Seems Joyce was always a bit heavy-handed. Besides which, the Slayer had to get her disposition from somewhere.”

Seeing Giles continue to stand there unmoving, Spike took pity on him and crossed the room, snagging the half-empty glass out of his hand. “Go on, Rupert. Wanna see if my sister-in-law will turn out to be as cute as the Slayer.”

“Yes! Yes, of course,” he stammered and rushed from the room.

Miranda Grace announced her presence an hour later.

~*~*~*~*~

Joyce watched Buffy stare somewhat wistfully at her sleeping sister. Her hand softly stroked Miranda’s cheek, and Joyce felt a pang that these two would never get to spend any real time together.

“Buffy…”

Buffy glanced up. Seeing her mother’s tearful expression, she smiled and moved away from the bassinet to sit on the edge of her bed.

“She’s beautiful, mom. Looks just like you.”

“Buffy, I— I’m sorry you won’t— that you can’t—”

“Don’t, mom. It’s okay. Truly.” Buffy took her mother’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “My clan is more than enough… trust me. Especially the boys… they really _can_ be such babies sometimes.”

Joyce didn’t seem convinced.

“But, you can’t have any children, babies of your own.”

“Mom, as a slayer I wouldn’t have been able to anyway. Normal just isn’t in the cards. Heck, I’d probably already be dead by now.”

“Don’t say that!”

“It’s true, mom. Slayers aren’t meant to live forever, and we’re damn sure not cut out for having babies, even if we wanted to. It’s better this way.”

“But, what will I tell Miranda? When she gets older?”

“That she’s a miracle created by two people that love each other.”

“Buffy, that’s not what I meant.”

“Her sister is dead, her ashes scattered on the wind. She _has_ to be. But,” Buffy went on when her mother moved to object. “There’ll be a family friend, a _close_ family friend— _friends, actually_ — who’ll try to make it to all of Miranda’s milestones.”

“Buffy—” Joyce whispered, sensing what her daughter wasn’t telling her. That this was goodbye – for now. “I—”

“Shhh…” Buffy wiped the tears from her mother’s face, her own eyes moist. She didn’t object to the hug her mother gave her.

“I love you,” Joyce told her, her voice choking on her emotions.

“I love you, too, Mommy,” Buffy murmured against her mother’s shoulder.

Joyce reluctantly let go of her daughter, allowing her to sit up.

“I’ve gotta go. We never planned on staying here in England this long. But Spike, he—”

“Catered to his mother-in-law?” Joyce finished. “I know. You’ll thank him for me?”

Buffy nodded and stood to leave.

“If you really need me, you’ve only to send word through the Countess of Hastings. You’ve the stationary and the stamp I left you?”

“Yes.”

Spike had felt it best to keep Jocelyn’s undead status a secret for now, so he’d had Jocelyn relocate to England with her sire, and seen about some of London’s nightspots to maintain the illusion. She was usually escorted about by Joseph, but never Renee. Renee looked like an identical twin to Jocelyn and their appearance together would spark questions they could ill afford.

It hadn’t taken long after leaving Sunnydale behind for the clan to be secreted within the Countess’ home. A few key staff changes had taken place as well, those leaving, pensioned off with glowing references.

Now that Jocelyn’s secret was secure, it was time for the rest of them to disappear. Another crisis was sure to be brewing, and they really had spent far too long in England. Much as she’d enjoyed seeing her mother and Giles over the past year.

And now she had a baby sister.

Buffy cast one final wave in her mother’s direction then was gone, slipping soundlessly from the room – leaving Joyce behind, grieving for the daughter moving on with her life, yet oddly comforted by the daughter sleeping peacefully in her bassinet.

~*~*~*~*~

“Giles!” Buffy gasped, having encountered the watcher – now her stepfather – at the top of the stairs.

“This is goodbye?” he asked unnecessarily.

“Yes. We’ve got that whole destiny thing we’ve been neglecting lately,” Buffy tried to joke to cover her riotous emotions at leaving them behind.

“Spike said as much. He’s—” Giles cleared his throat. “You all—” He pulled off his glasses and cleared his throat again, trying to put into words what he was trying to say – without coming off condescending. “It’s— it’s an honor to have met your family, Buffy. They’re—”

“Pretty special? Yeah, I know,” she grinned. “Though they do take some getting used to.”

Giles nodded and righted his glasses, watching silently as his slayer turned to leave.

“Buffy!” he called out before she could take a step.

She surprised him with a hug. Surprised himself at how easily his arms slid around her, hugging her back.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better slayer,” he whispered against the top of Buffy’s head. “Or a better daughter. Take care of yourself, all of you.”

“We will.” Buffy pulled away and stepped back. “Be seeing you, Giles. Look out for my mother… and Miranda.”

“With my life.”

Buffy smiled and waved, then hurried down the stairs and out of sight of the teary-eyed watcher.

~*~*~*~*~

“Where to?” Buffy asked, snuggling up to Spike on the back seat of the limousine. She laid her head against his shoulder and eyed some of the others tucked in the seats around her.

With the successful elimination of the Bushlwarknik demon’s human slave trade in England, the last of the larger breeding farms in the area that they’d managed to unearth, Buffy wanted nothing more than to disappear for a while. Rest and regroup. Having witnessed firsthand the atrocities seen at the place, she would have thought herself numb to it by now, but seeing all those children—

So many children.

She needed a break, just for a bit. It wasn’t too much to ask, she didn’t think. Unfortunately, she doubted that would be the case. Patterns were always making themselves known, and it took some time for the clan to assimilate themselves into the latest crisis in order to restore the balance. So it came as a shock to hear Spike’s next words.

“How’s your Japanese, luv? Fancy a trip to Kagoshima?”

Buffy lifted her head, searching out Spike’s face, to see the truth in his eyes. “Really?” She dared not hope.

“Yes. My childer need to rest, and so do we. We’ve not stopped since coming back. We need to—”

“Bond,” Buffy finished for him, running a hand along his cheek.

Spike nodded, pleased she understood, and he pulled her onto his lap and hugged her close to his chest as Bob drove them to the private airstrip.

~*~*~*~*~

“Where’s Alric?” Buffy asked, settling in her seat. “I thought he called to say he was finished with that last breeder farm in Germany.”

“He has. Instead of returning here, he flew straight to Japan to set everything up.”

What Spike didn’t say was that he’d taken someone with him – secretly, of course. Or, so Alric thought. There wasn’t anything that his childer could do that he wouldn’t eventually find out. But, he’d waited and let Alric come to him. Let his childe get on even footing with the girl he’d secreted away.

Besides which, he had something else occupying his mind.

A letter, delivered to him by way of Rupert’s London residence. A letter he’d yet to open.

A letter from Angelus.


End file.
